Library  of  tiie 
University    of  NortSi  Carolina 

Endowed  by  the  Dialectic  and  Pliilan- 
tliropic  Societies. 


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V.^'VERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  ^ 

illilllilililiiill 
00022093324 


THE 


SEVEN  LITTLE  SISTERS 

WHO    LIVE    ON   THE    ROUND    BALL 
THAT    FLOATS    IN    THE   AIR 

BY 

JANE   ANDREWS 


With  an  Introduction 

BY 

LOUISA  PARSONS  HOPKINS 

FORMERLY    SUPERVISOR    IN    BOSTON    PUBLIC    SCHOOLS 


GINN   &   COMPANY 

BOSTON  ■  NEW  YORK  •  CHICAGO  •  LONDON 


Copyright,  i86i 

3y  ticknor  and  fields 


Copyright,  1887 
By   EMILY   R.  ANDREWS 


ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


610.3 


Cbe   satftenseum   3grr5< 

GINN   &   COMPANY  .  PRO- 
PRIETORS .  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


o 

r 

r 


MY    THREE    LITTLE    FRIENDS 


iDbarnle,  JSell,  an&  ©corDie 


I    HAVE    WRITTEN    THESE   STORIES 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews     .......  vii 

The  Ball  Itself i 

The  Little  Brown  Baby ^ 

Agoonack,  the  Esquimau  Sister .  g 

How  Agoonack  lives  through  the  Long  Summer  .  19 

Gemila,  the  Child  of  the  Desert    .......  23 

The  Little  Mountain  Maiden 43 

The  Story  of  Pen-se ey 

The  Little  Dark  Girl 71 

Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Beautiful  River  Rhine  .  85 

Louise,  the  Chilj;  of  the  Western  Forest      ...  98 

The  Seven  Little  Sisters     .     .     , •     .  114 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2011  witii  funding  from 

University  of  Nortii  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/sevenlittlesisteOandr 


MEMORIAL   OF  MISS  JANE  ANDREWS.^ 


By  LOUISA  PARSONS  HOPKINS. 


Perhaps  the  readers  and  lovers  of  this  little 
book  will  be  glad  of  a  few  pages,  b)^  way  of 
introduction,  which  shall  show  them  somewhat 
of  Miss  Andrews  herself,  and  of  her  way  of 
writing  and  teaching,  as  an  old  friend  and 
schoolmate  may  try  to  tell  it ;  and,  to  begin 
with,  a  glimpse  of  the  happy  day  when  she 
called  a  few  of  her  friends  together  to  listen 
to  the  stories  contained  in  this  volume,  before 
they  were  offered  to  a  publisher. 

Picture  to  yourselves  a  group  of  young  ladies 
in  one  of  the  loveliest  of  old-fashioned  parlors, 
looking  out  on  a  broad,  elm-shaded  street  in  the 
old  town  of  Newburyport.  The  room  is  long 
and  large,  with  wide  mahogany  seats  in  the 
four  deep  windows,  ancient  mahogany  chairs, 
and  great  bookcases  across  one  side  of  the  room, 
with  dark  pier-tables  and  centre-table,  and  large 

1  Born  Dec.  i,  1833.     Died  July  15,  1887. 
vii 


viii          Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

mirror,  —  all  of  ancestral  New  England  solidity 
and  rich  simplicity ;  some  saintly  portraits  on 
the  wall,  a  modern  easel  in  the  corner  account- 
ing for  fine  bits  of  coloring  on  canvas,  crayon 
drawings  about  the  room,  and  a  gorgeous  fire- 
screen of  autumn  tints ;  nasturtium  vines  in 
bloom  glorifying  the  south  window,  and  German 
ivy  decorating  the  north  corner ;  choice  books 
here  and  there,  not  to  look  at  only,  but  to  be 
assimilated ;  with  an  air  of  quiet  refinement  and 
the  very  essence  of  cultured  homeness  pervading 
all  ;  —  this  is  the  meagre  outline  of  a  room, 
which,  having  once  sat  within,  you  would  wish 
never  to  see  changed,  in  which  many  pure  and 
noble  men  and  women  have  loved  to  commune 
with  the  lives  which  have  been  so  blent  with 
all  its  suggestions  that  it  almost  seems  a  part 
of  their  organic  being. 

But  it  was  twenty-five  years  ago^  that  this 
circle  of  congenial  and  expectant  young  people 
were  drawn  together  in  the  room  to  listen  to  the 
first  reading  of  the  MSS.  of  "  The  Seven  Little 
Sisters."  I  will  not  name  them  all ;  but  one 
whose  youthful  fame  and  genius  were  the  pride 
of  all,  Harriet  Prescott  (now  Mrs.  Spofford), 
was  Jane's  friend  and  neighbor  for  years,  and 
heard  most   of   her  books   in    MSS.     They  were 

1  This  memorial  was  written  in  1887. 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.  ix 

all  friends,  and  in  a  very  sympathetic  and  eager 
attitude  of  mind,  you  may  well  believe ;  for  in 
the  midst,  by  the  centre-table,  sits  Jane,  who 
has  called  them  together ;  and  knowing  that  she 
has  really  written  a  book,  each  one  feels  almost 
that  she  herself  has  written  it  in  some  uncon- 
scious way,  because  each  feels  identified  with 
Jane's  work,  and  is  ready  to  be  as  proud  of  it, 
and  as  sure  of  it,  as  all  the  world  is  now  of 
the  success  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews's  writings 
for  the  boys  and  girls  in  these  little  stories 
of  geography  and  history  which  bear  her  name. 

I  can  see  Jane  sitting  there,  as  I  wish  you 
could,  with  her  MSS.  on  the  table  at  her  side. 
She  is  very  sweet  and  good  and  noble-looking, 
with  soft,  heavy  braids  of  light-brown  hair  care- 
fully arranged  on  her  fine,  shapely  head  ;  her 
forehead  is  full  and  broad ;  her  eyes  large,  dark 
blue,  and  pleasantly  commanding,  but  with  very 
gentle  and  dreamy  phases  interrupting  their 
placid  decision  of  expression ;  her  features  are 
classic  and  firm  in  outline,  with  pronounced 
resolution  in  the  close  of  the  full  lips,  or  of 
hearty  merriment  in  the  open  laugh,  illuminated 
by  a  dazzle  of  well-set  teeth ;  her  complexion 
fresh  and  pure,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  her 
face  kind,   courageous,  and  inspiring,  as  well  as 


X  Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

thoughtful  and  impressive.  The  poise  of  her 
head  and  rather  strongly  built  figure  is  unusu- 
ally good,  and  suggestive  of  health,  dignity,  and 
leadership ;  yet  her  manners  and  voice  are  so 
gentle,  and  her  whole  demeanor  so  benevolent, 
that  no  one  could  be  offended  at  her  taking 
naturally  the  direction  of  any  work,  or  the  plan- 
ning of  any  scheme,  which  she  would  also  be 
foremost  in  executing. 

But  there  she  sits  looking  up  at  her  friends, 
with  her  papers  in  hand,  and  the  pretty  business- 
like air  that  so  well  became  her,  and  bespeaks  the 
extreme  criticism  of  her  hearers  upon  what  she 
shall  read,  because  she  really  wants  to  know  how 
it  affects  them,  and  what  mistakes  or  faults  can 
be  detected ;  for  she  must  do  her  work  as  well 
as  possible,  and  is  sure  they  are  willing  to  help. 
"  You  see,"  says  Jane,  "  I  have  dedicated  the 
book  to  the  children  I  told  the  stories  to  first, 
when  the  plan  was  only  partly  in  my  mind,  and 
they  seemed  to  grow  by  telling,  till  at  last  they 
finished  themselves  ;  and  the  children  seemed  to 
care  so  much  for  them,  that  I  thought  if  they 
were  put  into  a  book  other  children  might  care 
for  them  too,  and  they  might  possibly  do  some 
good  in  the  world." 

Yes,  those  were  the  points   that   always  indi- 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.  xi 

cated  the  essential  aim  and  method  of  Jane's 
writing  and  teaching,  the  elements  out  of  which 
sprang  all  her  work  ;  viz.,  the  relation  of  her 
mind  to  the  actual  individual  children  she  knew 
and  loved,  and  the  natural  growth  of  her  thought 
through  their  sympathy,  and  the  accretion  of  all 
she  read  and  discovered  while  the  subject  lay 
within  her  brooding  brain,  as  well  as  the  single 
dominant  purpose  to  do  some  good  in  the  world. 
There  was  definiteness  as  well  as  breadth  in  her 
way  of  working  all  through  her  life. 

I  wish  I  could  remember  exactly  what  was  said 
by  that  critical  circle ;  for  there  were  some  quick 
and  brilliant  minds,  and  some  pungent  powers  of 
appreciation,  and  some  keen-witted  young  women 
in  that  group.  Perhaps  I  might  say  they  had  all 
felt  the  moulding  force  of  some  very  original  and 
potential  educators  as  they  had  been  growing  up 
into  their  young  womanhood.  Some  of  these  were 
professional  educators  of  lasting  pre-eminence ; 
others  were  not  protessed  teachers,  yet  in  the 
truest  and  broadest  sense  teachers  of  very  wide 
and  wise  and  inspiring  influence :  and  of  these 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson  had  come  more 
intimately  and  effectually  into  formative  relations 
with  the  minds  and  characters  of  those  gathered 
in  that  sunny  room  than  any  other  person.     They 


xii*  Memorial  of  Miss  Jafte  Andrews. 

certainly  owed  much  of  the  loftiness  and  breadth 
of  their  aim  in  life,  and  their  comprehension  of 
the  growth  and  work  to  be  accomplished  in  the 
world,  to  his  kind  and  steady  instigation.  I  wish 
I  could  remember  what  they  said,  and  what  Jane 
said ;  but  all  that  has  passed  away.  I  think 
somebody  objected  to  the  length  of  the  title, 
which  Jane  admitted  to  be  a  fault,  but  said 
something  of  wishing  to  get  the  idea  of  the  unity 
of  the  world  into  it  as  the  main  idea  of  the  book. 
I  only  recall  the  enthusiastic  delight  with  which 
chapter  after  chapter  was  greeted  ;  we  declared 
that  it  was  a  fairy  tale  of  geography,  and  a  work 
of  genius  in  its  whole  conception,  and  in  its 
absorbing  interest  of  detail  and  individuality;  and 
that  any  publisher  would  demonstrate  himself  an 
idiot  who  did  not  want  to  publish  it.  I  remem- 
ber Jane's  quick  tossing  back  of  the  head,  and 
puzzled  brow  which  broke  into  a  laugh,  as  she 
said  :  *'  Well,  girls,  it  can't  be  as  good  as  you 
say ;  there  must  be  some  faults  in  it."  But  we 
all  exclaimed  that  we  had  done  our  prettiest  at 
finding  fault, —  that  there  was  n't  a  ghost  of  a  fault 
in  it.  For  the  incarnate  beauty  and  ideality  and 
truthfulness  cf  her  little  stories  had  melted  into 
our  being,  and  left  us  spellbound,  till  we  were 
one  with  each  other  and  her ;  one  with  the  Seven 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.         xiii 

Little  Sisters,  too,  and  they  seemed  like  our  very 
own  little  sisters.  So  they  have  rested  in  our 
imagination  and  affection  as  we  have  seen  them 
grow  into  the  imagination  and  affection  of  genera- 
tions of  children  since,  and  as  they  will  continue 
to  grow  until  the  old  limitations  and  barrenness 
of  the  study  of  geography  shall  be  transfigured, 
and  the  earth  seem  to  the  children  an  Eden  which 
love  has  girdled,  when  Gemila,  Agoonack,  and 
the  others  shall  have  won  them  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  the  fatherhood  of 
God. 

I  would  like  to  bring  before  young  people  who 
have  read  her  books  some  qualities  of  her  mind 
and  character  which  made  her  the  rare  woman, 
teacher,  and  writer  that  she  was.  I  knew  her 
from  early  girlhood.  We  went  to  the  same 
schools,  in  more  and  more  intimate  companion- 
ship, from  the  time  we  were  twelve  until  we 
were  twenty  years  of  age ;  and  our  lives  and 
hearts  were  "grappled"  to  each  other  "with 
links  of  steel "  ever  after.  She  was  a  precocious 
child,  early  matured,  and  strong  in  intellectual 
and  emotional  experiences.  She  had  a  remark- 
ably clear  mind,  orderly  and  logical  in  its  proc- 
esses, and  loved  to  take  up  hard  problems.  She 
studied  all  her  life  with  great  joy  and  earnestness, 


xiv         Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

rarely,  if  ever,  baffled  in  her  persistent  learning 
except  by  ill-health  She  went  on  at  a  great 
pace  in  mathematics  for  a  young  girl ;  every  step 
seemed  easy  to  her.  She  took  everything  severe 
that  she  could  get  a  chance  at,  in  the  course  or 
out  of  it,  —  surveying,  navigation,  mechanics, 
mathematical  astronomy,  and  conic  sections,  as 
well  as  the  ordinary  course  in  mathematics  ;  the 
calculus  she  had  worked  through  at  sixteen  un- 
der a  very  able  and  exact  teacher,  and  took  her 
diploma  from  W.  H.  Wells,  a  master  who  allowed 
nothing  to  go  slipshod.  She  was  absorbed  in 
studies  of  this  kind,  and  took  no  especial  interest 
in  composition  or  literature  beyond  what  was 
required,  and  what  was  the  natural  outcome  of  a 
literary  atmosphere  and  inherited  culture ;  that 
is,  her  mind  was  passively  rather  than  actively 
engaged  in  such  directions,  until  later.  At  the 
normal  school  she  led  a  class  which  has  had  a 
proud  intellectual  record  as  teachers  and  workers. 
She  was  the  easy  victor  in  every  contest;  with  an 
inclusive  grasp,  an  incisive  analysis,  instant  gen- 
eralization, a  very  tenacious  and  ready  memory, 
and  unusual  talent  for  every  effort  of  study,  she 
took  and  held  the  first  place  as  a  matter  of  course 
until  she  graduated,  when  she  gave  the  valedic- 
tory address.     This  valedictory  was  a  prophetic 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.  xv 

note  in  the  line  of  her  future  expression ;  for  it 
gave  a  graphic  illustration  of  the  art  of  teaching 
geography,  to  the  consideration  of  which  she  had 
been  led  by  Miss  Crocker's  logical,  suggestive,  and 
masterly  presentation  of  the  subject  in  the  school 
course.  Her  ability  and  steadiness  of  working 
power,  as  well,  as  singleness  of  aim,  attracted 
the  attention  of  Horace  Mann,  who  was  about 
forming  the  nucleus  of  Antioch  College ;  and  he 
succeeded  in  gaining  her  as  one  of  his  promised 
New  England  recruits.  She  had  attended  very 
little  to  Latin,  and  went  to  work  at  once  to 
prepare  for  the  classical  requirements  of  a  college 
examination.  This  she  did  with  such  phenom- 
enal rapidity  that  in  six  weeks  she  had  fitted 
herself  for  what  was  probably  equivalent  to  a 
Harvard  entrance  examination  in  Latin.  She 
went  to  Antioch,  and  taught  as  well  as  studied 
for  a  while,  until  her  health  gave  way  entirely ; 
and  she  was  prostrate  for  years  with  brain  and 
spine  disorders.  Of  course  this  put  an  end  to  her 
college  career ;  and  on  her  recovery  she  opened 
her  little  school  in  her  own  house,  which  she 
held  together  until  her  final  illness,  and  to  which 
she  devoted  her  thoughts  and  energies,  her  en- 
dowments and  attainments,  as  well  as  her  prodi- 
gal devotion  and  love. 


xvi  Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

The  success  of  "The  Seven  Little  Sisters" 
was  a  great  pleasure  to  her,  partly  because  her 
dear  mother  and  friends  were  so  thoroughly  satis- 
fied with  it.  Her  mother  always  wished  that 
Jane  would  give  her  time  more  exclusively  to 
writing,  especially  as  new  outlines  of  literary 
work  were  constantly  aroused  in  her  active  brain. 
She  wrote  several  stories  which  were  careful 
studies  in  natural  science,  and  which  appeared 
in  some  of  the  magazines.  I  am  sure  they  would 
be  well  worth  collecting.  She  had  her  plan  of 
"  Each  and  All "  long  in  her  mind  before  elab- 
orating, and  it  crystallized  by  actual  contact  with 
the  needs  and  the  intellectual  instincts  of  her 
little  classes.  In  fact  all  her  books  grew,  like 
a  plant,  from  within  outwards  ;  they  were  born 
in  the  nursery  of  the  schoolroom,  and  nurtured 
by  the  suggestions  of  the  children's  interest, 
thus  blooming  in  the  garden  of  a  true  and  natural 
education.  The  last  book  she  wrote,  "  Ten  Boys 
Who  Lived  on  the  Road  from  Long  Ago  to  Now," 
she  had  had  in  her  mind  for  years.  This  little 
book  she  dedicated  to  a  son  of  her  sister  Mar- 
garet. I  am  sure  she  gave  me  an  outline  of  the 
plan  fully  ten  years  before  she  wrote  it  out.  The 
subject  of  her  mental  work  lay  in  her  mind,  grow- 
ing, gathering  to  itself  nourishment,  and  organiz- 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.         xvii 

ing  itself  consciously  or  unconsciously  by  all  the 
forces  of  her  unresting  brain  and  all  the  channels 
of  her  study,  until  it  sprung  from  her  pen  com- 
plete at  a  stroke.  She  wrote  good  English,  of 
course,  and  would  never  sentimentalize,  but  went 
directly  at  the  pith  of  the  matter ;  and,  if  she  had 
few  thoughts  on  a  subject,  she  made  but  few 
words.  I  don't  think  she  did  much  by  way  of 
revising  or  recasting  after  her  thought  was  once 
committed  to  paper.  I  think  she  wrote  it  as  she 
would  have  said  it,  always  with  an  imaginary 
child  before  her,  to  whose  intelligence  and  sym- 
pathy it  was  addressed.  Her  habit  of  mind  was 
to  complete  a  thought  before  any  attempt  to  con- 
vey it  to  others.  This  made  her  a  very  helpful 
and  clear  teacher  and  leader.  She  seemed  always 
to  have  considered  carefully  anything  she  talked 
about,  and  gave  her  opinion  with  a  deliberation 
and  clear  conviction  which  affected  others  as  a 
verdict,  and  made  her  an  oracle  to  a  great  many 
kinds  of  people.  All  her  plans  were  thoroughly 
shaped  before  execution ;  all  her  work  was  true, 
finished,  and  conscientious  in  every  department. 
She  did  a  great  deal  of  quiet,  systematic  thinking 
from  her  early  school  days  onward,  a  jd  was  never 
satisfied  until  she  completed  the  act  of  thought 
by  expression  and  manifestation  in  some  way  for 


xviii        Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

the  advantage  of  others.  The  last  time  I  saw  her, 
which  was  for  less  than  five  minutes  accorded  me 
by  her  nurse  during  her  last  illness,  she  spoke  of 
a  new  plan  of  literary  work  which  she  had  in 
mind,  and  although  she  attempted  no  delineation 
of  it,  said  she  was  thinking  it  out  whenever  she 
felt  that  it  was  safe  for  her  to  think.  Her 
active  brain  never  ceased  its  plans  for  others, 
for  working  toward  the  illumination  of  the  mind, 
the  purification  of  the  soul,  and  the  elevation  and 
broadening  of  all  the  ideals  of  life.  I  remember 
her  sitting,  absorbed  in  reflection,  at  the  setting 
of  the  sun  every  evening  while  we  were  at  the 
House  Beautiful  of  the  Peabodys  ^  at  West  New- 
ton ;  or,  when  at  home,  gazing  every  night,  before 
retiring,  from  her  own  house-top,  standing  at  her 
watchtower  to  commune  with  the  starry  heavens, 
and  receive  that  exaltation  of  spirit  which  is  com- 
municated when  we  yield  ourselves  to  the  "essen- 
tially religious."  (I  use  this  phrase,  because  it 
delighted  her  so  when  I  repeated  it  to  her  as  the 
saying  of  a  child  in  looking  at  the  stars.) 

1  We  spent  nearly  all  our  time  at  West  Newton  in  a  little  cottage  on 
the  hill,  where  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody,  with  her  saintly  mother  and 
father,  made  a  paradise  of  love  and  refinement  and  ideal  culture  for  us, 
and  where  we  often  met  the  Hawthornes  and  Manns;  and  we  shall  never 
be  able  to  measure  the  wealth  of  intangible  mental  and  spiritual  influence 
which  wc  received  therefrora» 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.         xix 

No  one  ever  felt  a  twinge  of  jealousy  in  Jane's 
easy  supremacy ;  she  never  made  a  fuss  about  it, 
although  I  think  she  had  no  mock  modesty  in  the 
matter.  She  accepted  the  situation  which  her 
uniform  correctness  of  judgment  assured  to  her, 
while  she  always  accorded  generous  praise  and 
deference  to  those  who  excelled  her  in  depart- 
ments where  she  made  no  pretence  of  superiority. 

There  were  some  occasions  when  her  idea  of 
duty  differed  from  a  conventional  one,  perhaps 
from  that  of  some  of  her  near  friends;  but  no 
one  ever  doubted  her  strict  dealing  with  her- 
self, or  her  singleness  of  motive.  She  did  not 
feel  the  need  of  turning  to  any  other  con- 
science than  her  own  for  support  or  enlighten- 
ment, and  was  inflexible  and  unwavering  in  any 
course  she  deemed  right.  She  never  apologized 
for  herself  in  any  way,  or  referred  a  matter  of  her 
own  experience  or  sole  responsibility  to  another 
for  decision ;  neither  did  she  seem  to  feel  the 
need  of  expressed  sympathy  in  any  private  loss 
or  trial.  Her  philosophy  of  life,  her  faith,  or 
her  temperament  seemed  equal  to  every  exigency 
of  dfsappointment  or  suffering.  She  generally 
kept  her  personal  trials  hidden  within  her  own 
heart,  and  recovered  from  every  selfish  pain  by 
the  elastic  vigor  of  her  power  for  unselfish  devo- 


XX  Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

tion  to  the  good  of  others.  She  said  that  happi- 
ness was  to  have  an  unselfish  work  to  do,  and  the 
power  to  do  it. 

It  has  been  said  that  Jane's  only  fault  was  that 
she  was  too  good.  I  think  she  carried  her  unself- 
ishness too  often  to  a  short-sighted  excess,  break- 
ing down  her  health,  and  thus  abridging  her 
opportunities  for  more  permanent  advantage  to 
those  whom  she  would  have  died  to  serve  ;  but  it 
was  solely  on  her  own  responsibility,  and  in  con- 
sequence of  her  accumulative  energy  of  tempera- 
ment, that  made  her  unconscious  of  the  strain 
until  too  late. 

Her  brain  was  constitutionally  sensitive  and 
almost  abnormally  active ;  and  she  more  than 
once  overtaxed  it  by  too  continuous  study,  or  by 
a  disregard  of  its  laws  of  health,  or  by  a  stupen- 
dous multiplicity  of  cares,  some  of  which  it  would 
have  been  wiser  to  leave  to  others.  She  took 
everybody's  burdens  to  carry  herself.  She  was 
absorbed  in  the  affairs  of  those  she  loved,  —  of 
her  home  circle,  of  her  sisters'  families,  and  of 
many  a  needy  one  whom  she  adopted  into  her 
solicitude.  She  was  thoroughly  fond  of  children 
and  of  all  that  they  say  and  do,  and  would  work 
her  fingers  off  for  them,  or  nurse  them  day  and 
night.     Her  sisters'  children  were  as  if  they  had 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.         xxi 

been  her  own,  and  she  revelled  in  all  their 
wonderful  manifestations  and  development.  Her 
friends'  children  she  always  cared  deeply  for, 
and  was  hungry  for  their  wise  and  funny  re- 
marks, or  any  hint  of  their  individuality.  Many 
of  these  things  she  remembered  longer  than  the 
mothers  themselves,  and  took  the  most  thorough 
satisfaction  in  recounting. 

I  have  often  visited  her  school,  and  it  seemed 
like  a  home  with  a  mother  in  it.  There  we  took 
sweet  counsel  together,  as  if  we  had  come  to  the 
house  of  God  in  company ;  for  our  methods  were 
identical,  and  a  day  in  her  school  was  a  day  in 
mine.  We  invariably  agreed  as  to  the  ends  of 
the  work,  and  how  to  reach  them;  for  we  under- 
stood each  other  perfectly  in  that  field  of  art. 

I  wish  I  could  show  her  life  with  all  its  con- 
stituent factors  of  ancestry,  home,  and  surround- 
ings ;  for  they  were  so  inherent  in  her  thoughts 
and  feelings  that  you  could  hardly  separate  her 
from  them  in  your  consideration.  But  that  is 
impossible.  Disinterested  benevolence  was  the 
native  air  of  the  house  into  which  she  was  born, 
and  she  was  an  embodiment  of  that  idea.  To 
devote  herself  to  some  poor  outcast,  to  reform  a 
distorted  soul,  to  give  all  she  had  to  the  most 
abject,  to  4o  aU  site  could  for  the  despised  and 


xxii         Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

rejected,  — this  was  her  craving  and  absorbing 
desire.  I  remember  some  comical  instances  of 
the  pursuance  of  this  self-abnegation,  where  the 
returns  were,  to  say  the  least,  disappointing ;  but 
she  was  never  discouraged.  It  would  be  easy  to 
name  many  who  received  a  lifelong  stimulus  and 
aid  at  her  hands,  either  intellectual  or  moral.  She 
had  much  to  do  with  the  development  of  some 
remarkable  careers,  as  well  as  with  the  regenera- 
tion of  many  poor  and  abandoned  souls. 

She  was  in  the  lives  of  her  dear  ones,  and  they 
in  hers,  to  a  very  unusual  degree ;  and  her  life- 
threads  are  twined  inextricably  in  theirs  forever. 
She  was  a  complete  woman,  —  brain,  will,  affec- 
tions, all,  to  the  greatest  extent,  active  and  unself- 
ish ;  her  character  was  a  harmony  of  many  strong 
and  diverse  elements  ;  her  conscience  was  a  great 
rock  upon  which  her  whole  nature  rested ;  her 
hands  were  deft  and  cunning  ;  her  ingenious  brain 
was  like  a  master  mechanic  at  expedients;  and  in 
executive  and  administrative  power,  as  well  as  in 
device  and  comprehension,  she  was  a  marvel.  If 
she  had  faults,  they  are  indistinguishable  in  the 
brightness  and  solidity  of  her  whole  character. 
She  was  ready  to  move  into  her  place  in  any 
sphere,  and  adjust  herself  to  any  work  God 
should    give    her    to    do.      She'  must    be    happy. 


Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews.       xxiii 

and  shedding  happiness,  wherever  she  is;  for 
that  is  an  inseparable  quahty  and  function  of  her 
identity. 

She  passed  calmly  out  of  this  life,  and  lay  at 
rest  in  her  own  home,  in  that  dear  room  so  full  of 
memories  of  her  presence,  with  flowers  to  deck 
her  bed,  and  many  of  her  dearest  friends  around 
her ;  while  the  verses  which  her  beloved  sister 
Caroline  had  selected  seemed  easily  to  speak  with 
Jane's  own  voice,  as  they  read  :  — 

Prepare  the  house,  kind  friends ;  drape  it  and  deck  it 

With  leaves  and  blossoms  fair  : 
Throw  open  doors  and  windows,  and  call  hither 

The  sunshine  and  soft  air. 

Let  all  the  house,  from  floor  to  ceiling,  look 

Its  noblest  and  its  best ; 
For  it  may  chance  that  soon  may  come  to  me 

A  most  imperial  guest. 

A  prouder  visitor  than  ever  yet 

Has  crossed  my  threshold  o'er, 
One  wearing  royal  sceptre  and  a  crown 

Shall  enter  at  my  door  ; 

Shall  deign,  perchance,  sit  at  my  board  an  hour, 

And  break  with  me  my  bread  ; 
Suffer,  perchance,  this  night  my  honored  roof 

Shelter  his  kingly  head. 


xxiv       Memorial  of  Miss  Jane  Andrews. 

And  if,  ere  comes  the  sun  again,  he  bid  me 

Arise  without  delay, 
And  follow  him  a  journey  to  his  kingdom 

Unknown  and  far  away ; 

And  in  the  gray  light  of  the  dawning  morn 

We  pass  from  out  my  door. 
My  guest  and  I,  silent,  without  farewell, 

And  to  return  no  more,  — 

Weep  not,  kind  friends,  I  pray  ;  not  with  vain  tears 

Let  your  glad  eyes  grow  dim  ; 
Remember  that  my  house  was  all  prepared. 

And  that  I  welcomed  him. 


THE 

SEVEN    LITTLE    SISTERS. 

THE   BALL   ITSELF. 

Dear  children,  I  have  heard  of  a  wonder- 
ful ball,  which  floats  in  the  sweet  blue  air, 
and  has  little  soft  white  clouds  about  it,  as 
it  swims  along. 

There  are  many  charming  and  astonishing 
things  to  be  told  of  this  ball,  and  some  of 
them  you  shall  hear. 

In  the  first  place,  you  must  know  that  it 
is  a  very  big  ball ;  far  bigger .  than  the  great 
soft  ball,  of  bright  colors,  that  little  Charley 
plays  with  on  the  floor,  —  yes,  indeed ;  and 
bigger  than  cousin  Frank's  largest  football, 
that  he  brought  home  from  college  in  the 
spring;  bigger,  too,  than  that  fine  round 
globe  in  the  schoolroom,  that  Emma  turns 


2  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

about  so  carefully,  while  she  twists  her 
bright  face  all  into  wrinkles  as  she  searches 
for  Afghanistan  or  the  Bosphorus  Straits. 
Long  names,  indeed;  they  sound  quite  grand 
from  her  little  mouth,  but  they  mean  nothing 
to  you  and  me  now. 

'Let  me  tell  you  about  my  ball.  It  is  so 
large  that  trees  can  grow  on  it ;  so  large 
that  cattle  can  graze,  and  wild  beasts  roam, 
upon  it;  so  large  that  men  and  women  can 
live  on  it,  and  little  children  too,  —  as  you 
already  know,  if  you  have  read  the  title-page 
of  this  book.  In  some  places  it  is  soft  and 
green,  like  the  long  meadow  between  the 
hills,  where  the  grass  was  so  high  last  sum- 
mer that  we  almost  lost  Marnie  when  she 
lay  down  to  roll  in  it;  in  some  parts  it  is 
covered  with  tall  and  thick  forests,  where 
you  might  wander  like  the  "  babes  in  the 
wood,"  nor  ever  find  your  way  out;  then, 
again,  it  is  steep  and  rough,  covered  with 
great  hills,  much  higher  than  that  high  one 
behind  the  schoolhouse,  —  so  high  that  when 
you  look  up  ever  so  far  you  can't  see  the 
tops  of  them;   but  in  some  parts  there  are 


The  Ball  Itself.  3 

no  hills  at  all,  and  quiet  little  ponds  of  blue 
water,  where  the  white  water-lilies  grow,  and 
silvery  fishes  play  among  their  long  stems. 
Bell  knows,  for  she  has  been  among  the 
lilies  in  a  boat  with  papa. 

Now,  if  we  look  on  another  side  of  the 
ball,  we  shall  see  no  ponds,  but  something 
very  dreary.  I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  it. 
A  great  plain  of  sand,  —  sand  like  that  on 
the  seashore,  only  here  there  is  no  sea, — 
and  the  sand  stretches  away  farther  than 
you  can  see,  on  every  side ;  there  are  no 
trees,  and  the  sunshine  beats  down,  almost 
burning  whatever  is  beneath  it. 

Perhaps  you  think  this  would  be  a  grand 
place  to  build  sand-houses.  One  of  the 
little  sisters  lives  here ;  and,  when  you  read 
of  her,  you  will  know  what  she  thinks  about 
it.  Always  the  one  who  has  tried  it  knows 
best. 

Look  at  one  more  side  of  my  ball,  as  it 
turns  around.  Jack  Frost  must  have  spent 
all  his  longest  winter  nights  here,  for  see 
what  a  palace  of  ice  he  has  built  for  himself. 
Brave  men  have  gone  to  those  lonely  places, 


4  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

to  come  back  and  tell  us  about  them ;  and, 
alas !  some  heroes  have  not  returned,  but 
have  lain  down  there  to  perish  of  cold  and 
hunger.  Does  n't  it  look  cold,  the  clear  blue 
ice,  almost  as  blue  as  the  air  ?  And  look  at 
the  snow,-  drifts  upon  drifts,  and  the  air  filled 
with  feathery  flakes  even  now. 

We  won't  look  at  this  side  longer,  but  we 
shall  come  back  again  to  see  Agoonack  in 
her  little  sledge.  Don't  turn  over  yet  to 
find  the  story;  we  shall  come  to  it  all  in 
good  time. 

Now,  what  do  you  think  of  my  ball,  so 
white  and  cold,  so  soft  and  green,  so  quiet 
and  blue,  so  dreary  and  rough,  as  it.  floats 
along  in  the  sweet  blue  air,  with  the  flocks 
of  white  clouds  about  it } 

I  will  tell  you  one  thing  more.  The  wise 
men  have  said  that  this  earth  on  which  we 
live  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  just  such 
a  ball.  Of  this  we  shall  know  when  we  are 
older  and  wiser ;  but  here  is  the  little  brown 
baby  waiting  for  us. 


THE    LITTLE   BROWN    BABY. 

Far  away  in  the  warm  country  lives  a 
little  brown  baby;  she  has  a  brown  face, 
little  brown  hands  and  fingers,  brown  body, 
arms,  and  legs,  and  even  her  little  toes  are 
also  brown. 

And  this  baby  wears  no  little  frock  nor 
apron,  no  little  petticoat,  nor  even  stockings 
and  shoes,  —  nothing  at  all  but  a  string  of 
beads  around  her  neck,  as  you  wear  your 
coral ;  for  the  sun  shines  very  warmly  there, 
and  she  needs  no  clothes  to  keep  her  from 
the  cold. 

Her  hair  is  straight  and  black,  hanging 
softly  down  each  side  of  her  small  brown 
face ;  nothing  at  all  like  Bell's  golden  curls, 
or  Mamie's  sunny  brown  ones. 

Would  you  like  to  know  how  she  lives 
among  the  flowers  and  the  birds  ? 

She  rolls  in  the  long  soft  grass,  where  the 
gold-colored  snakes  are  at  play ;  she  watches 
the'young  monkeys  chattering  and  swinging 

5 


6  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

among  the  trees,  hung  by  the  tail ;  she 
chases  the  splendid  green  parrots  that  fly 
among  the  trees ;  and  she  drinks  the  sweet 
milk  of  the  cocoanut  from  a  round  cup  made 
of  its  shell. 

When  night  comes,  the  mother  takes  her 
baby  and  tosses  her  up  into  the  little  swing- 
ing bed  in  the  tree,  which  her  father  made 
for  her  from  the  twisting  vine  that  climbs 
among  the  branches.  And  the  wind  blows 
and  rocks  the  little  bed  ;  and  the  mother  sits 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree  singing  a  mild  sweet 
song,  and  this  brown  baby  falls  asleep.  Then 
the  stars  come  out  and  peep  through  the 
leaves  at  her.  The  birds,  too,  are  all  asleep  in 
the  tree ;  the  mother-bird  spreading  her  wings 
over  the  young  ones  in  the  nest,  and  the 
father-bird  sitting  on  a  twig  close  by  with  his 
head  under  his  wing.  Even  the  chattering 
monkey  has  curled  himself  up  for  the  night. 

Soon  the  large  round  moon  comes  up. 
She,  too,  must  look  into  the  swinging  bed, 
and  shine  upon  the  closed  eyes  of  the  little 
brown  baby.  She  is  very  gentle,  and  sends 
her  soft  lio[ht  amono;  the  branches  and  thick 


The  Little  Brown  Baby.  7 

green  leaves,  kissing  tenderly  the  small  brown 
feet,  and  the  crest  on  the  head  of  the  mother- 
bird,  who  opens  one  eye  and  looks  quickly 
about  to  see  if  any  harm  is  coming  to  the 
young  ones.  The  bright  little  stars,  too, 
twinkle  down  through  the  shadows  to  bless 
the  sleeping  child.  All  this  while  the  wind 
blows  and  rocks  the  little  bed,  singing  also 
a  low  song  through  the  trees ;  for  the  brown 
mother  has  fallen  asleep  herself,  and  left  the 
night-wind  to  take  care  of  her  baby. 

So  the  night  moves  on,  until,  all  at  once, 
the  rosy  dawn  breaks  over  the  earth ;  the 
birds  lift  up  their  heads,  and  sing  and  sing ; 
the  great  round  sun  springs  up,  and,  shining 
into  the  tree,  lifts  the  shut  lids  of  the  brown 
baby's  eyes.  She  rolls  over  and  falls  into 
her  mother's  arms,  who  dips  her  into  the 
pretty  running  brook  for  a  bath,  and  rolls 
her  in  the  grass  to  dry,  and  then  she  may 
play  among  the  birds  and  flowers  all  day 
long ;  for  they  are  like  merry  brothers  and 
sisters  to  the  happy  child,  and  she  plays  with 
them  on  the  bosom  of  the  round  earth,  which 
seems  to  love  them  all  like  a  mother. 


8  The  Seveti  Little  Sisters. 

This  is  the  little  brown  baby.  Do  you 
love  her?  Do  you  think  you  would  know 
her  if  you  should  meet  her  some  day  ? 

A  funny  little  brown  sister.  Are  all  of 
them  brown.? 

We  will  see,  for  here  comes  Agoonack 
and  her  sledge. 


J 


AGOONACK,   THE   ESQUIMAU   SISTER. 

What  is  this  odd-looking  mound  of  stone  ? 
It  looks  like  the  great  brick  oven  that  used 
to  be  in  our  old  kitchen,  where,  when  I  was 
a  little  girl,  I  saw  the  fine  large  loaves  of 
bread  and  the  pies  and  puddings  pushed 
carefully  in  with  a  long,  flat  shovel,  or  drawn 
out  with  the  same  when  the  heat  had  browned 
them  nicely. 

Is  this  an  oven  standing  out  here  alone  in 
the  snow  ? 

You  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is 
not  an  oven,  but  a  house ;  and  here  lives 
little  Agoonack. 

Do  you  see  that  low  opening,  close  to  the 
ground  ?  That  is  the  door ;  but  one  must 
creep  on  hands  and  knees  to  enter.  There 
is  another  smaller  hole  above  the  door :  it  is 
the  window.  It  has  no  glass,  as  ours  do ; 
only  a  thin  covering  of  something  which 
Agoonack's  father  took  from  the  inside  of 
a  seal,  and   her  mother  stretched   over  the 


lO  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

window-hole,  to  keep  out  the  cold  and  to  let 
in  a  little  light. 

Here  lives  our  little  girl ;  not  as  the  brown 
baby  does,  among  the  trees  and  the  flowers, 
but  far  up  in  the  cold  countries  amid  snow 
and  ice. 

If  we  look  off  now,  over  the  ice,  we  shall 
see  a  funny  little  clumsy  thing,  running 
along  as  fast  as  its  short,  stout  legs  will 
permit,  trying  to  keep  up  with  its  mother. 
You  will  hardly  know  it  to  be  a  little  girl, 
but  might  rather  call  it  a  white  bear's  cub, 
it  is  so  oddly  dressed  in  the  white,  shaggy 
coat  of  the  bear  which  its  father  killed  last 
month.  But  this  is  really  Agoonack ;  you 
can  see  her  round,  fat,  greasy  little  face,  if 
you  throw  back  the  white  jumper-hood 
which  covers  her  head.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  clothes  she  wears  ? 

Not  at  all  like  yours,  you  will  say;  but, 
when  one  lives  in  cold  countries,  one  must 
dress  accordingly. 

First,  she  has  socks,  soft  and  warm,  but 
not  knit  of  the  white  yarn  with  which  mam- 
ma knits    yours.     Her   mamma  has  sewed 


Agoonack,  the  Esquimau  Sister.  1 1 

them  from  the  skins  of  birds,  with  the  soft 
down  upon  them  to  keep  the  small  brown 
feet  very  warm.  Over  these  come  her  moc- 
casins of  sealskin. 

If  you  have  been  on  the  seashore,  perhaps 
you  know  the  seals  that  are  sometimes  seen 
swimming  in  the  sea,  holding  up  their  brown 
heads,  which  look  much  like  dogs'  heads, 
wet  and  dripping. 

The  seals  love  best  to  live  in  the  seas  of 
the  cold  countries:  here  they  are,  huddled 
together  on  the  sloping  rocky  shores,  or 
swimming  about  under  the  ice,  thousands 
and  thousands  of  silver-gray  coated  creatures, 
gentle  seal-mothers  and  brave  fathers  with 
all  their  pretty  seal-babies.  And  here  the 
Esquimaux  (for  that  is  the  name  by  which 
we  call  these  people  of  the  cold  countries) 
hunt  them,  eat  them  for  dinner,  and  make 
warm  clothes  of  their  skins.  So,  as  I  told 
you,  Agoonack  has  sealskin  boots. 

Next  she  wears  leggings,  or  trousers,  of 
white  bear-skin,  very  rough  and  shaggy, 
and  a  little  jacket  or  frock,  called  a  jumper, 
of  the  same.    This  jumper  has  a  hood,  made 


12  Tlie  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

like  the  little  red  riding-hoods  which  I  dare 
say  you  have  all  seen.  Pull  the  hood  up 
over  the  short,  black  hair,  letting  it  almost 
hide  the  fat,  round  face,  and  you  have  Agoo- 
nack  dressed. 

Is  this  her  best  dress,  do  you  think } 
Certainly  it  is  her  best,  because  she  has  no 
other,  and  when  she  goes  into  the  house  — 
but  I  think  I  won't  tell  you  that  yet,  for  there 
is  something  more  to  be  seen  outside. 

Agoonack  and  her  mother  are  coming 
home  to  dinner,  but  there  is  no  sun  shining 
on  the  snow  to  make  it  sparkle.  It  is  dark 
like  night,  and  the  stars  shine  clear  and 
steady  like  silver  lamps  in  the  sky,  but  far 
off,  between  the  great  icy  peaks,  strange 
lights  are  dancing,  shooting  long  rosy  flames 
far  into  the  sky,  or  marching  in  troops  as  if 
each  light  had  a  life  of  its  own,  and  all  were 
marching  together  along  the  dark,  quiet  sky. 
Now  they  move  slowly  and  solemnly,  with 
no  noise,  and  in  regular,  stead)^  file ;  then 
they  rush  all  together,  flame  into  golden  and 
rosy  streamers,  and  mount  far  above  the 
cold,  icy  mountain  peaks  that  glitter  in  their 


Agoonack,  the  Esquimau  Sister.  1 3 

light ;  we  hear  a  sharp  sound  like  Dsah ! 
Dsah !  and  the  ice  glows  with  the  warm  color, 
and  the  splendor  shines  on  the  little  white- 
hooded  girl  as  she  trots  beside  her  mother. 

It  is  far  more  beautiful  than  the  fireworks 
on  Fourth  of  July.  .  Sometimes  we  see  a 
little  of  it  here,  and  we  say  there  are  north- 
ern liehts,  and  we  sit  at  the  window  watch- 
ing  all  the  evening  to  see  them  march  and 
turn  and  flash;  but  in  the  cold  countries 
they  are  far  more  brilliant  than  any  we  have 
seen. 

It  is  Agoonack's  birthday,  and  there  is  a 
present  for  her  before  the  door  of  the  house. 
I  will  make  you 
a  picture  of  it. 
"  It  is  a  sled,"  you 

exclaim.     Yes,  a 

sled;  but  quite  unlike  yours.  In  the  far- 
away cold  countries  no  trees  grow;  so  her 
father  had  no  wood,  and  he  took  the  bones 
of  the  walrus  and  the  whale,  bound  them 
together  with  strips  of  sealskin,  and  he  has 
built  this  pretty  sled  for  his  little  daughter's 
birthday. 


14  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

It  has  a  back  to  lean  against  and  hold  by, 
for  the  child  will  go  over  some  very  rough 
places,  and  might  easily  fall  from  it.  And 
then,  you  see,  if  she  fell,  it  would  be  no  easy 
matter  to  jump  up  again  and  climb  back  to 
her  seat,  for  the  little  sled  would  have  run 
away  from  her  before  she  should  have  time 
to  pick  herself  up.  How  could  it  run } 
Yes,  that  is  the  wonderful  thing  about  it. 
When  her  father  made  the  sled  he  said  to 
himself,  "  By  the  time  this  is  finished,  the 
two  little  brown  dogs  will  be  old  enough  to 
draw  it,  and  Agoonack  shall  have  them ;  for 
she  is  a  princess,  the  daughter  of  a  great 
chief." 

Now  you  can  see  that,  with  two  such  brisk 
little  dogs  as  the  brown  puppies  harnessed 
to  the  sled,  Agoonack  must  keep  her  seat 
firmly,  that  she  may  not  roll  over  into  the 
snow  and  let  the  dogs  run  away  with  it. 

You  can  imagine  what  gay  frolics  she  has 
with  her  brother  who  runs  at  her  side,  or 
how  she  laughs  and  shouts  to  see  him  drive 
his  bone  ball  with  his  bone  bat  or  hockey, 
skimming  it  over  the  crusty  snow. 


Agoonack,  the  Esquimau  Sister.  1 5 

Now  we  will  creep  into  the  low  house 
with  the  child  and  her  mother,  and  see  how 
they  live. 

Outside  it  is  very  cold,  colder  than  you 
have  ever  known  it  to  be  in  the  coldest 
winter's  day;  but  inside  it  is  warm,  even 
very  hot.  And  the  first  thing  Agoonack 
and  her  mother  do  is  to  take  off  their 
clothes,  for  here  it  is  as  warm  as  the  place 
where  the  brown  baby  lives,  who  needs  no 
clothes. 

It  is  n't  the  sunshine  that  makes  it  warm, 
for  you  remember  I  told  you  it  was  as  dark 
as  night.  There  is  no  furnace  in  the  cellar; 
indeed,  there  is  no  cellar,  neither  is  there  a 
stove.  But  all  this  heat  comes  from  a  sort 
of  lamp,  with  long  wicks  of  moss  and  plenty 
of  walrus  fat  to  burn.  It  warms  the  small 
house,  which  has  but  one  room,  and  over  it 
the  mother  hangs  a  shallow  dish  in  which 
she  cooks  soup;  but  most  of  the  meat  is 
eaten  raw,  cut  into  long  strips,  and  eaten 
much  as  one  might  eat  a  stick  of  candy. 

They  have  no  bread,  no  crackers,  no  apples 
nor  potatoes ;  nothing  but  meat,  and  some- 


1 6  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

times  the  milk  of  the  reindeer,  for  there  are 
no  cows  in  the  far,  cold  northern  countries. 
But  the  reindeer  gives  them  a  great  deal: 
he  is  their  horse  as  well  as  their  cow;  his 
skin  and  his  flesh,  his  bones  and  horns,  are 
useful  when  he  is  dead,  and  while  he  lives 
he  is  their  kind,  gentle,  and  patient  friend. 

There  is  some  one  else  in  the  hut  when 
Agoonack  comes  home,  —  a  little  dark  ball, 
rolled  up  on  one  corner  of  the  stone  plat- 
form which  is  built  all  around  three  sides  of 
the  house,  serving  for  seats,  beds,  and  table. 
This  rolled-up  ball  unrolls  itself,  tumbles 
off  the  seat,  and  runs  to  meet  them.  It  is 
Sipsu,  the  baby  brother  of  Agoonack,  —  a 
round  little  boy,  who  rides  sometimes,  when 
the  weather  is  not  too  cold,  in  the  hood  of 
his  mother's  jumper,  hanging  at  her  back, 
and  peering  out  from  his  warm  nestling- 
place  over  the  long  icy  plain  to  watch  for 
his  father's  return  from  the  bear-hunt. 

When  the  men  come  home  dragging  the 
great  Nannook,  as  they  call  the  bear,  there 
is  a  merry  feast.  They  crowd  together  in 
the  hut,  bringing  in  a  great  block  of  snow, 


Agoonack,  the  Esquimau  Sister.  ly 

which  they  put  over  the  lamp-fire  to  melt 
into  water;  and  then  they  cut  long  strips  of 
bear's  meat,  and  laugh  and  eat  and  sing,  as 
they  tell  the  long  story  of  the  hunt  of  Nan- 
nook,  and  the  seals  they  have  seen,  and  the 
foot-tracks  of  the  reindeer  they  have  met  in 
the  long  valley. 

Perhaps  the  day  will  come  when  pale, 
tired  travellers  will  come  to  their  shelter- 
ing home,  and  tell  them  wonderful  stories, 
and  share  their  warmth  for  a  while,  till 
they  can  gain  strength  to  go  on  their  jour- 
ney again. 

Perhaps  while  they  are  so  merry  there  all 
together,  a  very  great  snowstorm  will  come 
and  cover  the  little  house,  so  that  they  can- 
not get  out  for  several  days.  When  the 
storm  ends,  they  dig  out  the  low  doorway, 
and  creep  again  into  the  starlight,  and 
Agoonack  slips  into  her  warm  clothes  and 
runs  out  for  Jack  Frost  to  kiss  her  cheeks, 
and  leave  roses  wherever  his  lips  touch.  If 
it  is  very  cold  indeed,  she  must  stay  in,  or 
Jack  Frost  will  give  her  no  roses,  but  a  cold, 
frosty  bite. 


1 8  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

This  is  the  way  Agoonack  lives  through 
the  long  darkness.  But  I  have  to  tell  you 
more  of  her  in  another  chapter,  and  you  will 
find  it  is  not  always  dark  in  the  cold  north- 
ern countries. 


HOW  AGOONACK  LIVES  THROUGH 
THE  LONG  SUMMER. 

It  is  almost  noon  one  day  when  Agoo- 
nack's  mother  wraps  the  little  girl  in  her 
shaggy  clothes  and  climbs  with  her  a  high 
hill,  promising  a  pleasant  sight  when  they 
shall  have  reached  the  top. 

It  is  the  sun,  the  beautiful,  bright,  round 
sun,  which  shines  and  smiles  at  them  for  a 
minute,  and  then  slips  away  again  below  the 
far,  frozen  water. 

They  have  n't  seen  him  for  many  months, 
and  now  they  rejoice,  for  the  next  day  he 
comes  again  and  stays  longer,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next,  and  every  day  longer  and 
longer,  until  at  last  he  moves  above  them  in 
one  great,  bright  circle,  and  does  not  even  go 
away  at  all  at  night.  His  warm  rays  melt 
the  snow  and  awaken  the  few  little  hardy 
flowers  that  can  grow  in  this  short  summer. 
The  icy  coat  breaks  away  from  the  clear 
running   water,   and   great    flocks   of   birds 


20  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

with  soft  white  plumage  come,  like  a  snow- 
storm  of  great  feathery  flakes,  and  settle 
among  the  black  rocks  along  the  seashore. 
Here  they  lay  their  eggs  in  the  many  safe 
little  corners  and  shelves  of  the  rock;  and 
here  they  circle  about  in  the  sunshine>  while 
the  Esquimau  boys  make  ready  their  long- 
handled  nets  and  creep  and  climb  out  upon 
the  ledges  of  rock,  and,  holding  up  the  net 
as  the  birds  fly  by,  catch  a  netful  to  carry 
home  for  supper. 

The  sun  shines  all  day  long,  and  all  night 
long,  too;  and  yet  he  can't  melt  all  the 
highest  snowdrifts,  where  the  boys  are  play- 
ing bat-and-ball,  —  long  bones  for  sticks,  and 
an  odd  little  round  one  for  a  ball. 

It  is  a  merry  life  they  all -live  while  the 
sunshine  stays,  for  they  know  the  long,  dark 
winter  is  coming,  when  they  can  no  longer 
climb  among  the  birds,  nor  play  ball  among 
the  drifts. 

The  seals  swim  by  in  the  clear  water,  and 
the  walrus  and  her  young  one  are  at  play; 
and,  best  of  all,  the  good  reindeer  has  come, 
for  the  sun  has  uncovered  the  crisp  moss 


•   Agoonack  in  the  Long  Summer.  2i 

upon  which  he  feeds,  and  he  is  roaming 
through  the  valleys  where  it  grows  among 
the  rocks. 

The  old  men  sit  on  the  rocks  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  laugh  and  sing,  and  tell  long 
stories  of  the  whale  and  the  seal,  and  the 
o-reat  white  whale  that,  many  years  ago, 
when  Agoonack's  father  was  a  child,  came 
swimming  down  from  the  far  north,  where 
they  look  for  the  northern  lights,  swimming 
and  diving  through  the  broken  ice;  and 
they  watched  her  in  wonder,  and  no  one 
would  throw  a  harpoon  at  this  white  lady  of 
the  Greenland  seas,  for  her  visit  was  a  good 
omen,  promising  a  mild  winter. 

Little  Agoonack  comes  from  her  play  to 
crouch  among  the  rocky  ledges  and  listen 
to  the  stories.  She  has  no  books;  and,  if 
she  had,  she  couldn't  read  them.  Neither 
could  her  father  or  mother  read  to  her :  their 
stories  are  told  and  sung,  but  never  written. 
But  she  is  a  cheerful  and  contented  little  girl, 
and  tries  to  help  her  dear  friends ;  and  some- 
times she  wonders  a  great  while  by  herself 
about  what  the  pale  stranger  told  them. 


22  The  Sevefi  Little  Sisters. 

And  now,  day  by  day,  the  sun  is  slipping 
away  from  them;  gone  for  a  few  minutes 
to-day,  to-morrow  it  will  stay  away  a  few 
more,  until  at  last  there  are  many  hours  of 
rosy  twilight,  and  few,  very  few,  of  clear 
sunshine. 

But  the  children  are  happy:  they  do  not 
dread  the  winter,  but  they  hope  the  tired 
travellers  have  reached  their  homes;  and 
Agoonack  wants,  oh,  so  much !  to  see  them 
and  help  them  once  more.  The  father  will 
hunt  again,  and  the  mother  will  tend  the 
lamp  and  keep  the  house  warm;  and,  al- 
though they  will  have  no  sun,  the  moon 
and  stars  are  bright,  and  they  will  see  again 
the  streamers  of  the  great  northern  light. 

Would  you  like  to  live  in  the  cold  coun- 
tries, with  their  long  darkness  and  long 
sunshine? 

It  is  very  cold,  to  be  sure,  but  there  are 
happy  children  there,  and  kind  fathers  and 
mothers,  and  the  merriest  sliding  on  the 
very  best  of  ice  and  snow. 


GEMILA,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE 
DESERT. 

It  is  almost  sunset;  and  Abdel  Hassan 
has  come  out  to  the  door  of  his  tent  to 
enjoy  the  breeze,  which  is  growing  cooler 
after  the  day's  terrible  heat.  The  round, 
red  sun  hangs  low  over  the  sand ;  it  will  be 
gone  in  five  minutes  more.  The  tent-door 
is  turned  away  from  the  sun,  and  Abdel 
Hassan  sees  only  the  rosy  glow  of  its  light 
on  the  hills  in  the  distance  which  looked  so 
purple  all  day.  He  sits  very  still,  and  his 
earnest  eyes  are  fixed  on  those  distant  hills. 
He  does  not  move  or  speak  when  the  tent- 
door  is  again  pushed  aside,  and  his  two 
children,  Alee  and  Gemila,  come  out  with 
their  little  mats  and  seat  themselves  also  on 
the  sand.  You  can  see  little  Gemila  in  the 
picture.  How  glad  they  are  of  the  long, 
cool  shadows,  and  the  tall,  feathery  palms ! 
how  pleasant  to  hear  the  camels  drink,  and 
to  drink  themselves  at  the  deep  well,  when 

23 


24  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

they  have  carried  some  fresh  water  in  a  cup 
to  their  silent  father !  He  only  sends  up 
blue  circles  of  smoke  from  his  long  pipe  as 
he  sits  there,  cross-legged,  on  a  mat  of  rich 
carpet.  He  never  sat  in  a  chair,  and,  indeed, 
never  saw  one  in  his  life.  His  chairs  are  mats; 
and  his  house  is,  as  you  have  heard,  a  tent. 

Do  you  know  what  a  tent  is } 

I  always  liked  tents,  and  thought  I  should 
enjoy  living  in  one ;  and  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,  on  many  a  stormy  day  when  we  could  n't 
go  to  school,  I  played  with  my  sisters  at 
living  in  tents.  We  would  take  a  small 
clothes-horse  and  tip  it  down  upon  its  sides, 
half  open ;  then,  covering  it  with  shawls,  we 
crept  in,  and  were  happy  enough  for  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon.  I  tell  you  this,  that 
you  may  also  play  tents  some  day,  if  you 
have  n't  already. 

The  tent  of  Gemila's  father  is,  however, 
quite  different  from  ours.  Two  or  three 
long  Doles  hold  it  up,  and  over  them  hangs 
a  cloth  made  of  goats'-hair,  or  sometimes 
sheepskins,  which  are  thick  enough  to  keep 
out  either  heat  or  cold.     The  ends  of  the 


Ganila,  the   Child  of  the  Desert.  25 

cloth  are  fastened  down  by  pegs  driven  into 
the  sand,  or  the  strong  wind  coming  might 
blow  the  tent  away.  The  tent-cloth  pushes 
back  like  a  curtain  for  the  door.  Inside, 
a  white  cloth  stretched  across  divides  this 
strange  house  into  two  rooms ;  one  is  for 
the  men,  the  other  for  the  women  and 
children.  In  the  tent  there  is  no  furniture 
like  ours ;  nothing  but  mats,  and  low  cush- 
ions called  divans  ;  not  even  a  table  from 
which  to  eat,  nor  a  bed  to  sleep  upon.  But 
the  mats  and  the  shawls  are  very  gorgeous 
and  costly,  and  we  are  very  proud  when  we 
can  buy  any  like  them  for  our  parlors.  And, 
by  the  way,  I  must  tell  you  that  these  people 
have  been  asleep  all  through  the  heat  of  the 
day,  —  the  time  when  you  would  have  been 
coming  home  from  school,  eating  your  din- 
ner, and  going  back  to  school  again.  They 
closed  the  tent-door  to  keep  out  the  terrible 
blaze  of  the  sun,  stretched  themselves  on 
the  mats,  and  slept  until  just  now,  when  the 
night-wind  began  to  come. 

Now  they  can   sit  outside   the  tent  and 
enjoy  the  evening,   and  the  mother  brings 


26  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

out  dates  and  little  hard  cakes  of  bread, 
with  plenty  of  butter  made  from  goats'  milk. 
The  tall,  dark  servant-woman,  with  loose 
blue  cotton  dress  and  bare  feet,  milks  a 
camel,  and  they  all  take  their  supper,  or 
dinner  perhaps  I  had  better  call  it.  They 
have  no  plates,  nor  do  they  sit  together  to 
eat.  The  father  eats  by  himself:  when  he 
has  finished,  the  mother  and  children  take 
the  dates  and  bread  which  he  leaves.  We 
could  teach  them  better  manners,  we  think ; 
but  they  could  teach  us  to  be  hospitable  and 
courteous,  and  more  polite  to  strangers  than 
we  are. 

When  all  is  finished,  you  see  there  are  no 
dishes  to  be  washed  and  put  away. 

The  stars  have  come  out,  and  from  the 
great  arch  of  the  sky  they  look  down  on  the 
broad  sands,  the  lonely  rocks,  the  palm-trees, 
and  the  tents.  Oh,  they  are  so  bright,  so 
steady,  and  so  silent,  in  that  great,  lonely 
place,  where  no  noise  is  heard !  no  sounds 
of  people  or  of  birds  or  animals,  excepting 
the  sleepy  groaning  of  a  camel,  or  the  low 
song  that  little  Alee  is  singing  to  his  sister, 


Getnila,  the   Child  of  the  Desert.  27 

as  they  lie  upon  their  backs  on  the  sand,  and 
watch  the  slow,  grand  movement  of  the  stars 
that  are  always  journeying  towards  the  west. 

Night  is  very  beautiful  in  the  desert ;  for 
this  is  the  desert,  where  Abdel  Hassan  the 
Arab  lives.  His  country  is  that  part  of  our 
round  ball  where  the  yellow  sands  stretch 
farther  than  eye  can  see,  and  there  are  no 
wide  rivers*,  no  thick  forests,  and  no  snow- 
covered  hills.  The  day  is  too  bright  and 
too  hot,  but  the  night  he  loves ;  it  is  his 
friend. 

He  falls  asleep  at  last  out  under  the  stars, 
and,  since  he  has  been  sleeping  so  long  in 
the  daytime,  can  well  afford  to  be  awake  very 
early  in  the  morning:  so,  while  the  stars 
still  shine,  and  there  is  only  one  little  yellow 
line  of  light  in  the  east,  he  calls  his  wife, 
children,  and  servants,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
all  is  bustle  and  preparation ;  for  to-day  they 
must  take  down  the  tent,  and  move,  with 
all  the  camels  and  goats,  many  miles  away. 
For  the  summer  heat  has  nearly  dried  up 
the  water  of  their  little  spring  under  the 
palm-trees,  and  the  grass  that  grew  there  is 


28  The  Seven  Little   Sisters. 

also  entirely  gone  ;  and  one  cannot  live  with- 
out water  to  drink,  particularly  in  the  desert, 
nor  can  the  goats  and  camels  live  without 
grass. 

Now,  it  would  be  a  very  bad  thing  for  us, 
if  some  day  all  the  water  in  our  wells  and 
springs  and  ponds  should  dry  up,  and  all 
the  grass  on  our  pleasant  pastures  and  hills 
should  wither  away. 

What  should  we  do  ?  Should  we  have  to 
pack  all  our  clothes,  our  books,  our  furniture 
and  food,  and  move  away  to  some  other 
place  where  there  were  both  water  and  grass, 
and  then  build  new  houses  ?  Oh,  how  much 
trouble  it  would  give  us !  No  doubt  the 
children  would  think  it  great  fun;  but  as 
they  grew  older  they  would  have  no  pleasant 
home  to  remember,  with  all  that  makes 
"  sweet  home  "  so  dear. 

And  now  you  will  see  how  much  better 
it  is  for  Gemila's  father  than  if  he  lived  in 
a  house.  In  a  very  few  minutes  the  tent  is 
taken  down,  the  tent-poles  are  tied  together, 
the  covering  is  rolled  up  with  the  pegs  and 
strings  which  fastened  it,  and  it  is  all  ready 


Gemila,  the  Child  of  the  Desert.  29 

to  put  up  again  whenever  they  choose  to 
stop.  As  there  is  no  furniture  to  carry,  the 
mats  and  cushions  only  are  to  be  rolled 
together  and  tied ;  and  now  Achmet,  the 
old  servant,  brings  a  tall  yellow  camel. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  camel?  I  hope  you 
have  some  time  seen  a  living  one  in  a  me- 
nagerie ;  but,  if  you  have  n't,  jDcrhaps  you 
have  seen  a  picture  of  the  awkward-looking 
animal  with  a  great  hump  upon  his  back,  a 
long  neck,  and  head  thrust  forward.  A  boy 
told  me  the  other  day,  that,  when  the  camel 
had  been  long  without  food,  he  ate  his 
hump:  he  meant  that  the  flesh  and  fat  of 
the  hump  helped  to  nourish  him  when  he 
had  no  food. 

Achmet  speaks  to  the  camel,  and  he 
immediately  kneels  upon  the  sand,  while 
the  man  loads  him  with  the  tent-poles  and 
covering;  after  which  he  gets  up,  moves 
on  a  little  way,  to  make  room  for  another 
to  come  up,  kneel,  and  be  loaded  with  mats, 
cushions,  and  bags  of  dates. 

Then  comes  a  third ;  and  while  he  kneels, 
another    servant    comes    from    the    spring, 


30  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

brino-ingr  a  o-reat  bao-  made  of  camels'-skin, 
and  filled  with  water.  Two  of  these  bags 
are  hung  upon  the  camel,  one  on  each  side. 
This  is  the  water  for  all  these  people  to 
drink  for  four  days,  while  they  travel  through 
a  sandy,  rocky  country,  where  there  are  no 
springs  or  wells.  I  am  afraid  the  water  will 
not  taste  very  fresh  after  it  has  been  kept  so 
long  in  leather  bags  ;  but  they  have  nothing 
else  to  carry  it  in,  and,  besides,  they  are 
used  to  it,  and  don't  mind  the  taste. 

Here  are  smaller  bags,  made  of  goats'- 
skin,  and  filled  with  milk ;  and  when  all 
these  things  are  arranged,  which  is  soon 
done,  they  are  ready  to  start,  although  it  is 
still  long  before  sunrise.  The  camels  have 
been  drinking  at  the  spring,  and  have  left 
only  a  little  muddy  water,  like  that  in  our 
street-gutters  ;  but  the  goats  must  have  this, 
or  none  at  all. 

And  now  Abdel  Hassan  springs  upon  his 
beautiful  black  horse,  that  has  such  slender 
legs  and  swift  feet,  and  places  himself  at  the 
head  of  this  long  troop  of  men  and  women, 
camels  and  goats.     The  women  are  riding 


Gemila,  the  Child  of  the  Desert.  31 

upon  the  camels,  and  so  are  the  children ; 
while  the  servants  and  camel-drivers  walk 
barefooted  over  the  yellow  sand. 

It  would  seem  very  strange  to  you  to  be 
perched  up  so  high  on  a  camel's  back,  but 
Gemila  is  quite  accustomed  to  it.  When 
she  was  very  little,  her  mother  often  hung 
a  basket  beside  her  on  the  camel,  and  carried 
her  baby  in  it;  but  now  she  is  a  great  girl, 
full  six  years  old,  and  when  the  camel  kneels, 
and  her  mother  takes  her  place,  the  child 
can  spring  on  in  front,  with  one  hand  upon 
the  camel's  rough  hump,  and  ride  safely  and 
pleasantly  hour  after  hour.  Good,  patient 
camels !  God  has  fitted  them  exactly  to 
be  of  the  utmost  help  to  the  people  in 
that  desert  country.  Gemila  for  this  often 
blesses  and  thanks  Him  whom  she  calls 
Allah. 

All  this  morning  they  ride,  —  first  in  the 
bright  starlight ;  but  soon  the  stars  become 
faint  and  dim  in  the  stronger  rosy  light  that 
is  spreading  over  the  whole  sky,  and  sud- 
denly the  little  girl  sees  stretching  far  before 
her  the  long  shadow  of  the  camels,  and  she 


32  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

knows  that  the  sun  is  up,  for  we  never  see 
shadows  when  the  sun  is  not  up,  unless  it  is 
by  candlelight  or  moonlight.  The  shadows 
stretch  out  very  far  before  them,  for  the  sun 
is  behind.  When  you  are  out  walking  very 
early  in  the  morning,  with  the  sun  behind 
you,  see  how  the  shadow  of  even  such  a 
little  girl  as  you  will  reach  across  the  whole 
street ;  and  you  can  imagine  that  such  great 
creatures  as  camels  would  make  even  much 
longer  shadows. 

Gemila  watches  them,  and  sees,  too,  how 
the  white  patches  of  sand  flush  in  the  morn- 
ing light ;  and  she  looks  back  where  far 
behind  are  the  tops  of  their  palm-trees,  like 
great  tufted  fans,  standing  dark  against  the 
yellow  sky. 

She  is  not  sorry  to  leave  that  old  home. 
She  has  had  many  homes  already,  young  as 
she  is,  and  will  have  many  more  as  long  as 
she  lives.  The  whole  desert  is  her  home ; 
it  is  very  wide  and  large,  and  sometimes 
she  lives  in  one  part,  sometimes  in  another. 

As  the  sun  gets  higher,  it  begins  to  grow 
very  hot.     The  father  arranges  the  folds  of 


Gemila,  the  Child  of  the  Desert.  33 

his  great  white  turban,  a  shawl  with  many- 
folds,  twisted  round  his  head  to  keep  off 
the  oppressive  heat.  The  servants  put  on 
their  white  fringed  handkerchiefs,  falling 
over  the  head  and  down  upon  the  neck,  and 
held  in  place  by  a  little  cord  tied  round  the 
head.  It  is  not  like  a  bonnet  or  hat,  but 
one  of  the  very  best  things  to  protect  the 
desert  travellers  from  the  sun.  The  chil- 
dren, too,  cover  their  heads  in  the  same 
way,  and  Gemila  no  longer  looks  out  to  see 
what  is  passing :  the  sun  is  too  bright ;  it 
would  hurt  her  eyes  and  make  her  head 
ache.  She  shuts  her  eyes  and  falls  half 
asleep,  sitting  there  high  upon  the  camel's 
back.  But,  if  she  could  look  out,  there 
would  be  nothing  to  see  but  what  .she  has 
seen  many  and  many  times  before,  —  great 
plains  of  sand  or  pebbles,  and  sometimes 
high,  bare  rocks,  —  not  a  tree  to  be  seen,  and 
far  off  against  the  sky,,  the  low  purple  hills. 
They  move  on  in  the  heat,  and  are  all 
silent.  It  is  almost  noon  now,  and  Abdel 
Hassan  stops,  leaps  from  his  horse,  and 
strikes    his    spear    into    the   ground.     The 


34  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

camel-drivers  stop,  the  camels  stop  and 
kneel,  Gemila  and  Alee  and  their  mother 
dismount.  The  servants  build  up  again  the 
tent  which  they  took  down  in  the  morning; 
and,  after  drinking  water  from  the  leathern 
bags,  the  family  are  soon  under  its  shelter, 
asleep  on  their  mats,  while  the  camels  and 
servants  have  crept  into  the  shadov/  of  some 
rocks  and  lain  down  in  the  sand.  The 
beautiful  black  horse  is  in  the  tent  with  his 
master  ;  he  is  treated  like  a  child,  petted  and 
fed  by  all  the  family,  caressed  and  kissed  by 
the  children.  Here  they  rest  until  the  heat 
of  the  day  is  past;  but  before  sunset  they 
have  eaten  their  dates  and  bread,  loaded 
again  the  camels,  and  are  moving,  with  the 
beautiful  black  horse  and  his  rider  at  the 
head. 

They  ride  until  the  stars  are  out,  and 
after,  but  stop  for  a  few  hours'  rest  in  the 
night,  to  begin  the  next  day  as  they  began 
this.  Gemila  still  rides  upon  the  camel, 
and  I  can  easily  understand  that  she  prays 
to  Allah  with  a  full  heart  under  the  shining 
stars  so  clear  and  far,  and  that  at  the  call  to 


Gem  I  la,  the  CJdld  of  the  Desert.  35 

prayer  in  the  early  dawn  her  pretty  httle 
veiled  head  is  bent  in  true  love  and  worship. 
But  I  must  tell  you  what  she  sees  soon  after 
sunrise  on  this  second  morning.  Across 
the  sand,  a  long  way  before  them,  some- 
thing with  very  long  legs  is  running,  almost 
flying.  She  knows  well  what  it  is,  for  she 
has  often  seen  them  before,  and  she  calls 
to  one  of  the  servants,  "  See,  there  is  the 
ostrich ! "  and  she  claps  her  hands  with 
delight. 

The  ostrich  is  a  great  bird,  with  very 
long  legs  and  small  wings ;  and  as  legs  are 
to  run  with,  and  wings  to  fly  with,  of  course 
he  can  run  better  than  he  can  fly.  But  he 
spreads  his  short  wings  while  running,  and 
they  are  like  little  sails,  and  help  him  along 
quite  wonderfully,  so  that  he  runs  much 
faster  than  any  horse  can. 

Although  he  runs  so  swiftly,  he  is  some- 
times caught  in  a  very  odd  way.  I  will  tell 
you  how. 

He  is  a  large  bird,  but  he  is  a  very  silly 
one,  and,  when  he  is  tired  of  running,  he 
will  hide  his  head  in  the  sand,  thinking  that 


36  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

because  he  can  see  no  one  he  can't  be  seen 
himself.  Then  the  swift-footed  Arab  horses 
can  overtake  him,  and  the  men  can  get  his 
beautiful  feathers,  which  you  must  have  often 
seen,  for  ladies  wear  them  in  their  bonnets. 

All  this  about  the  ostrich.  Don't  forget 
it,  my  little  girl :  some  time  you  may  see  one, 
and  will  be  glad  that  you  know  what  kind 
of  a  fellow  he  is. 

The  ostrich  which  Gemila  sees  is  too  far 
away  to  be  caught;  besides,  it  will  not  be 
best  to  turn  aside  from  the  track  which  is 
leading  them  to  a  new  spring.  But  one  of 
the  men  trots  forward  on  his  camel,  looking 
to  this  side  and  to  that  as  he  rides ;  and  at 
last  our  little  girl,  who  is  watching,  sees  his 
camel  kneel,  and  sees  him  jump  off  and 
stoop  in  the  sand.  When  they  reach  the 
place,  they  find  a  sort  of  great  nest,  hollowed 
a  little  in  the  sand,  and  in  it  are  great  eggs, 
almost  as  big  as  your  head.  The  mother 
ostrich  has  left  them  there.  She  is  not  like 
other  mother-birds,  that  sit  upon  the  eggs 
to  keep  them  warm  ;  but  she  leaves  them  in 
the  hot  sand,  and  the  sun  keeps  them  warm, 


Gemila,  the   Child  of  the  Desert.  37 

and  by  and  by  the  little  ostriches  will  begin 
to  chip  the  shell,  and  creep  out  into  the 
great  world. 

The  ostrich  eggs  are  good  to  eat.  You 
eat  your  one  ^^'g  for  breakfast,  but  one  of 
these  big  eggs  will  make  breakfast  for  the 
whole  family.  And  that  is  why  Gemila 
clapped  her  hands  when  she' saw  the  ostrich: 
she  thought  the  men  would  find  the  nest, 
and  have  fresh  eggs  for  a  day  or  two. 

This  day  passes  like  the  last:  they  meet 
no  one,  not  a  single  man  or  woman,  and 
they  move  steadily  on  towards  the  sunset. 
In  the  morning  again  they  are  up  and 
away  under  the  starlight ;  and  this  day  is 
a  happy  one  for  the  children,  and,  indeed, 
for  all. 

The  morning  star  is  yet  shining,  low, 
large,  and  bright,  when  our  watchful  little 
girl's  dark  eyes  can  see  a  row  of  black  dots 
on  the  sand,  —  so  small  you  might  think 
them  nothing  but  flies ;  but  Gemila  knows 
better.  They  only  look  small  because  they 
are  far  away;  they  are  really  men  and  camels, 
and  horses  too,  as  she  will  soon  see  when 


38  The   Seven   Little   Sisters. 

they  come  nearer.  A  whole  troop  of  them , 
as  many  as  a  hundred  camels,  loaded  with 
great  packages  of  cloths  and  shawls  for  tur- 
bans, carpets  and  rich  spices,  and  the  beauti- 
ful red  and  green  morocco,  of  which,  when 
I  was  a  little  girl,  we  sometimes  had  shoes 
made,  but  we  see  it  oftener  now  on  the 
covers  of  books. 

All  these  things  belong  to  the  Sheik 
Hassein.  He  has  been  to  the  great  cities 
to  buy  them,  and  now  he  is  carrying  them 
across  the  desert  to  sell  again.  He  himself 
rides  at  the  head  of  his  company  on  a 
magnificent  brown  horse,  and  his  dress  is 
so  grand  and  gay  that  it  shines  in  the 
morning  light  quite  splendidly.  A  great 
shawl  with  golden  fringes  is  twisted  about 
his  head  for  a  turban,  and  he  wears,  instead 
of  a  coat,  a  tunic  broadly  striped  with  crim- 
son and  yellow,  while  a  loose-flowing  scarlet 
robe  falls  from  his  shoulders.  His  face  is 
dark,  and  his  eyes  keen  and  bright;  only  a 
little  of  his  straight  black  hair  hangs  below 
the  fringes  of  his  turban,  but  his  beard  is 
^ong    and    dark,   and    he    really    looks  very 


Gemila,   the   Child  of  the  Desert.  39 

magnificent  sitting  upon  his  fine  horse,  in 
the  full  morning  sunlight. 

Abdel  Hassan  rides  forward  to  meet  him, 
and  the  children  from  behind  watch  with 
great  delight. 

Abdel  Hassan  takes  the  hand  of  the  sheik, 
presses  it  to  his  lips  and  forehead,  and  says, 
"  Peace  be  with  you." 

Do  you  see  how  different  this  is  from  the 
hand-shakings  and  "  How-do-you-do's  "  of  the 
gentlemen  whom  we  know.''  Many  grand 
compliments  are  offered  from  one  to  another, 
and  they  are  very  polite  and  respectful. 
Our  manners  would  seem  very  poor  beside 
theirs. 

Then  follows  a  long  talk,  and  the  smoking 
of  pipes,  while  the  servants  make  coffee,  and 
serve  it  in  little  cups. 

Hassein  tells  Abdel  Hassan  of  the  wells 
of  fresh  water  which  he  left  but  one  day's 
journey  behind  him,  and  he  tells  of  the  rich 
cities  he  has  visited.  Abdel  Hassan  gives 
him  dates  and  salt  in  exchange  for  cloth  for 
a  turban,  and  a  brown  cotton  dress  for  his 
little  daughter. 


40  The  Seven  Little   Sisters. 


• 


It  is  not  often  that  one  meets  men  in  the 
desert,  and  this  day  will  long  be  remembered 
by  the  children. 

The  next  night,  before  sunset,  they  can 
see  the  green  feathery  tops  of  the  palm-trees 
before  them.  The  palms  have  no  branches, 
but  only  great  clusters  of  fern-like  leaves  at 
the  top  of  the  tree,  under  which  grow  the 
sweet  dates. 

Near  those  palm-trees  will  be  Gemila's 
home  for  a  little  while,  for  here  they  will 
find  grass  and  a  spring.  The  camels  smell 
the  water,  and  begin  to  trot  fast;  the  goats 
leap  along  over  the  sand,  and  the  barefooted 
men  hasten  to  keep  up  with  them. 

In  an  hour  more  the  tent  is  pitched  under 
the  palm-trees,  and  all  have  refreshed  them- 
selves with  the  cool,  clear  water. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  that  ^he  camels 
have  had  nothing  to  drink  since  they  left 
the  old  home.  The  camel  has  a  deep  bag 
below  his  throat,  which  he  fills  with  water 
enough  to  last  four  or  five  days ;  so  he  can 
travel  in  the  desert  as  long  as  that,  and 
sometimes  longer,  without  drinking  again. 


Ge'mila,  the  Child  of  the  Desert.  41 

Yet  I  believe  the  camels  are  as  glad  as  the 
children  to  come  to  the  fresh  spring. 

Gemila  thinks  so  at  night,  as  she  stands 
under  the  starlight^  patting  her  good  camel 
Simel,  and  kissing  his  great  lips. 

The  black  goats,' with  long  silky  ears,  are 
already  cropping  the  grass.  The  father  sits 
again  at  the  tent-door,  and  smokes  his  long 
pipe ;  the  children  bury  their  bare  feet  in 
the  sand,  and  heap  it  into  little  mounds 
about  them  ;  while  the  mother  is  bringing 
out  the  dates  and  the  bread  and  butter. 

It  is  an  easy  thing  for  them  to  move : 
they  are  already  at  home  again.  But  al- 
though they  have  so  few  cares,  we  do  not 
wish  ourselves  in  their  place,  for  we  love 
the  home  of  our  childhood,  "be  it  ever  so 
humble,"  better  than  roaming  like  an  exile. 

But  all  the  time  I  have  n't  told  you  how 
Gemila  looks,  nor  what  clothes  she  wears. 
Her  face  is  dark ;  she  has  a  little  straight 
nose,  full  lips,  and  dark,  earnest  eyes ;  her 
dark  hair  will  be  braided  when  it  is  long 
enough.  On  her  arms  and  her  ankles  are 
gilded  bracelets  and  anklets,  and  she  wears  a 


42  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

brown  cotton  dress  loosely  hanging  halfway 
to  the  bare,  slepder  ankles.  On  her  head 
the  white  fringed  handkerchief,  of  which  I 
told  you,  hangs  like  a  little  veil.  Her  face 
is  pleasant,  and  when  she  smiles  her  white 
teeth  shine  between  her  parted  lips. 

She  is  the  child  of  the  desert,  and  she 
loves  her  desert  home. 

I  think  she  would  hardly  be  happy  to  live 
in  a  house,  eat  from  a  table,  and  sleep  in  a 
little  bed  like  yours.  She  would  grow  rest- 
less and  weary  if  she  should  live  so  long 
and  so  quietly  in  one  place. 


THE    LITTLE    MOUNTAIN    MAIDEN. 

I  WANT  you  to  look  at  the  picture  on  this 
page.  It  is  a  little  deer:  its  name  is  the 
chamois.  Do  you  see  what  delicate  horns 
it  has,  and  what  slender  legs,  and  how  it 
seems  to  stand  on  that  bit  of  rock  and  lift 
its  head  to  watch  for  the  hunters. 

Last  summer  I  saw  a  little  chamois  like 
that,  and  just  as  sntall :  it  was  not  alive,  but 
cut  or  carved  of  wood,  —  such  a  graceful 
pretty  little  playthino-  as  one  ^^X  \ 
does  not  meet  every  day.    ■^.jA^'rfC'fv^   >; 

Would  you  like  to  know  who    V/-1 
made  it,  and  where  it  came  from  ?     ^ 

It  was  made  in  the  mountain         ^-^^^^i 
country,  by  the  brother  of  my  good 
Jeannette,  the  little  Swiss  maiden. 

Here  amono^  the  hio^h  mountains  she  lives 
with  her  father,  mother,  and  brothers ;  and 
far  up  among  those  high  snowy  peaks,  which 
are  seen  behind  the  house,  the  chamois  live, 
many  of  them   together,  eating  the   tender 

43 


44  I'^i'^  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

grass  and  little  pink-colored  flowers,  and 
leaping  and  springing  away  over  the  ice 
and  snow  when  they  see  the  men  coming 
up  to  hunt  them. 

■  I  will  tell  you  by  and  by  how  it  happened 
that  Jeannette's  tall  brother  Joseph  carved 
this  tiny  chamois  from  wood.  But  first  you 
must  know  about  this  small  house  upon  the 
great  hills,  and  how  they  live  up  there  so 
near  the  blue  sky. 

One  would  think  it  might  be  easier  for  a 
child  to  be  good  and  pure  so  far  up  among 
the  quiet  hills,  and  that  there  God  would 
seemi  to  come  close  to  the  spirit,  even  of  a 
little  girl  or  boy. 

On  the  sides  of  the  mountains  tall  trees 
are  growing,  —  pine  and  fir  trees,  which  are 
Screen  in  winter  as  well  as  in  summer.  If 
you  go  into  the  woods  in  winter,  you  will 
find  that  almost  all  the  trees  have  dropped 
their  pretty  green  leaves  upon  the  ground, 
and  are  standing  cold  and  naked  in  the 
winter  wind ;  but  the  pines  and  the  firs 
keep  on  their  warm  green  clothes  all  the 
year  round. 


The  Little  Mountain  Maiden.  45 

It  was  many  years  ago,  before  Jeannette 
was  born,  that  her  father  came  to  the  moun- 
tains with  his  sharp  axe  and  cut  down  some 
of  the  fir-trees.  Other  men  helped  him,  and 
they  cut  the  great  trees  into  strong  logs  and 
boards,  and  built  of  them  the  house  of  which 
I  have  told  you.  Now  he  will  have  a  good 
home  of  his  own  for  as  long  as  he  likes  to 
live  there,  and  to  it  will  come  his  wife  and 
children  as  God  shall  send  them,  to  nestle 
among  the  hills. 

Then  he  went  down  to  the  little  town  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  when  he  came 
back,  he  was  leading  a  brown,  long-eared 
donkey,  and  upon  that  donkey  sat  a  rosy- 
cheeked  young  woman,  with  smiling  brown 
eyes,  and  long  braids  of  brown  hair  hanging 
below  a  little  green  hat  set  on  one  side  of 
her  head,  while  beautiful  rose-colored  carna- 
tions peeped  from  beneath  it  on  the  other 
side.  Who  was  this  }  It  was  n't  Jeannette  : 
you  know  I  told  you  this  was  before  she 
was  born.  Can  you  guess,  or  must  I  tell 
you  that  it  was  the  little  girl's  mother.?  She 
had  come  up  the  mountain  for  the  first  time 


46  The   Seven  Little   Sisters. 

to  her  new  home,  —  the  house  built  of  the 
fir  and  the  pine,  —  where  after  awhile  were 
born  Jeannette's  two  tall  brothers,-  and  at 
last  Jeannette  herself. 

It  was  a  good  place  to  be  born  in.  When 
she  was  a  baby  she  used  to  lie  on  the  short, 
sweet  grass  before  the  doorstep,  and  watch 
the  cows  and  the  goats  feeding,  and  clap 
her  little  hands  to  see  how  rosy  the  sun- 
set made  the  snow  that  shone  on  the  tops 
of  those  high  peaks.  And  the  next  sum- 
mer, when  she  could  run  alone,  she  picked 
the  blue-eyed  gentians,  thrusting  her  small 
fingers  between  their  fringed  eyelids,  and 
begging  them  to  open  and  look  at  little 
Jean  ;  and  she  stained  her  wee  hands  among 
the  strawberries,  and  pricked  them  with  the 
thorns  of  the  long  raspberry-vines,  when 
she  went  with  her  mother  in  the  afternoon 
to  pick  the  sweet  fruit  for  supper.  Ah,  she 
was  a  happy  little  thing!  Many  a  fall  she 
got  over  the  stones  or  among  the  brown 
moss,  and  man)^  a  time  the  clean  frock  that 
she  wore  was  dyed  red  with  the  crushed 
berries;  but,  oh,  how  pleasant  it  was  to  find 


The  Little  Mountain  Maiden.  47 

them  in  great  patches  on  the  mountain-side, 
where  the  kind  sun  had  warmed  them  into 
such  dehcious  Hfe  !  I  have  seen  the  children 
run  out  of  school  to  pick  such  sweet  wild 
strawberries,  all  the  recess-time,  up  in  the 
fields  of  Maine ;  and  how  happy  they  were 
with  their  little  stained  fingers  as  they  came 
back  at  the  call  of  the  bell ! 

In  the  black  bog-mud  grew  the  Alpen 
roses,  and  her  mother  said,  "  Do  not  go 
there,  my  little  daughter,  it  is  too  muddy  for 
you."  But  at  night,  when  her  brother  came 
home  from  the  chamois  hunt,  he  took  off 
his  tall,  pointed  hat,  and  showed  his  little 
sister  the  long  spray  of  roses  twisted  round 
it,  which  he  had  brought  for  her.  He  could 
go  in  the  mud  with  his  thick  boots,  you 
know,  and  never  mind  it. 

Here  they  live  alone  upon  the  mountain ; 
there  are  no  near  neighbors.  At  evening 
they  can  see  the  blue  smoke  curling  from 
the  chimney  of  one  house  that  stands  behind 
that  sunny  green  slope,  a  hundred  yards 
from  their  door,  and  they  can  always  look 
down   upon  the  many  houses  of  the  town 


48  TJie  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

below,   where   the    mother   lived    when   she 
was   young. 

Many  times  has  Jeannette  wondered  how 
the  people  lived  down  there,  —  so  many  to- 
gether; and  where  their  cows  could  feed, 
and  whether  there  were  any  little  girls  like, 
herself,  and  if  they  picked  berries,  and  had 
such  a  dear  old  black  nanny-goat  as  hers, 
that  gave  milk  for  her  supper,  and  now  had 
two  little  black  kids,  its  babies.  She  did  n't 
know  about  those  little  children  in  Maine, 
and  that  they  have  little  kids  and  goats,  as 
well  as  sweet  red  berries,  to  make  the  days 
pass  happily. 

She  wanted  to  go  down  and  see,  some 
day,  and  her  father  promised  that,  when 
she  was  a  great  girl,  she  should  go  down 
with  him  on  market-days,  to  sell  the  goats'- 
milk  cheeses  and  the  sweet  butter  that  her 
mother  made. 

When  the  cows  and  goats  have  eaten  all 
the  grass  near  the  house,  her  father  drives 
them  before  him  up  farther  among  the 
mountains,  where  more  grass  is  growing, 
a'ld  there  he  stays  with  them  many  weeks; 


The  Little  Mountain  Maiden.  49 

he  does  not  even  come  home  at  night,  but 
sleeps  in  a  small  hut  among  the  rocks, 
where,  too,  he  keeps  the  large  clean  milk- 
pails,  and  the  little  one-legged  stool  upon 
which  he  sits  at  morning  and  night  to  milk 
the  cows  and  goats. 

When  the  pails  are  full,  the  butter  is  to 
be  made,  and  the  cheese ;  and  he  works 
while  the  animals  feed.  The  cows  have 
little  bells  tied  to  their  necks,  that  he  may 
hear  and  find  them  should  they  stray  too  far. 

Many  times,  when  he  is  away,  does  his 
little  daughter  at  home  listen,  listen,  while 
she  sits  before  the  door,  to  hear  the  distant 
tinkling  of  the  cow-bells.  She  is  a  loving 
little  daughter,  and  she  thinks  of  her  father 
so  far  away  alone,  and  wishes  he  was  coming 
home  to  eat  some  of  the  sweet  strawberries 
and  cream  for  supper. 

Last  summer  some  travellers  came  to  the 
house.  They  stopped  at  the  door  and  asked 
for  milk;  the  mother  brought  them  brim- 
ming bowlsful,  and  the  shy  little  girl  crept 
up  behind  her  mother  with  her  birch-bark 
baskets    of    berries.     The    gentlemen    took 


50  TJie  Sevefi  Little  Sisters. 

them  and  thanked  her,  and  one  told  of  his 
own  little  Mary  at  home,  far  away  over  the 
great  sea.  Jeannette  often  thinks  of  her, 
and  wonders  whether  her  papa  has  gone 
home  to  her. 

While  the  gentlemen  talked,  Jeannette's 
brother  Joseph  sat  upon  the  broad  stone 
doorstep  and  listened.  Presently  one  gentle- 
man, turning  to  him,  asked  if  he  would  come 
with  them  over  the  mountain  to  lead  the 
way,  for  there  are  many  wild  places  and 
high,  steep  rocks,  and  they  feared  to  get 
lost. 

Joseph  sprang  up  from  his  low  seat  and 
said  he  would  go,  brought  his  tall  hat  and 
his  mountain-staff,  like  a  long,  strong  cane, 
with  a  sharp  iron  at  the  end,  which  he  can 
stick  into  the  snow  or  ice  if  there  is  danger 
of  slipping ;  and  they  went  merrily  on  their 
way,  over  the  green  grass,  over  the  rocks, 
far  up  among  the  snow  and  ice,  and  the 
frozen  streams  and  rivers  that  pour  down 
the  mountain-sides. 

Joseph  was  brave  and  gay ;  he  led  the  way, 
sinorino;    aloud    until    the    echoes    answered 


The  Little  Mountain  Maiden.  51 

from  every  hillside.  It  makes  one  happy 
to  sing,  and  when  we  are  busy  and  happy 
we  sing  without  thinking  of  it,  as  the  birds 
do.  When  everything  is  bright  and  beauti- 
ful in  nature  around  us,  we  feel  like  singing 
aloud  and  praising  God,  who  made  the  earth 
so  beautiful ;  then  the  earth  also  seems  to 
sing  of  God  who  made  it,  and  the  echo 
seems  like  its  answer  of  praise.  Did  you 
ever  hear  the  echo,  —  the  voice  that  seems 
to  come  from  a  hill  or  a  house  far  away, 
repeating  whatever  you  may  say?  Among 
the  mountains  the  echoes  answer  each  other 
again  and  again.  Jeannette  has  often  heard 
them. 

That  night,  while  the  mother  and  her  little 
girl  were  eating  their  supper,  the  gentlemen 
came  back  again,  bringing  Joseph  with  them. 
He  could  not  walk  now,  nor  spring  from 
rock  to  rock  with  his  Aluen  staff;  he  had 
fallen  and  broken  his  leg,  and  he  must  lie 
still  for  many  days.  But  he  could  keep  a 
cheerful  face,  and  still  sing  his  merry  songs ; 
and  as  he  grew  better,  and  could  sit  out  again 
on  the  broad  bench  beside  the  door,  he  took 


52  The  Seven   Little  Sisters. 

his  knife  and  pieces  of  fine  wood,  and  carved 
beautiful  things,  —  first  a  spoon  for  his  little 
sister,  with  gentians  on  the  handle ;  then 
a  nice  bowl,  with  a  pretty  strawberry-vine 
carved  all  about  the  edge.  And  from  this 
bowl,  and  with  this  spoon,  she  ate  her  sup- 
per every  night,  —  sweet  milk,  with  the  dry 
cakes  of  rye  bread  broken  into  it,  and  some- 
times the  red  strawberries.  I  know  his  little 
sister  loved  him  dearly,  and  thanked  him  in 
her  heart  every  time  she  used  the  pretty 
things.  How^  dearly  a  sister  and  brother 
can  love  each  other ! 

Then  he  made  other  things,  —  knives, 
forks,  and  plates ;  and  at  last  one  day  he 
sharpened  his  knife  very  sharp,  chose  a  very 
nice,  delicate  piece  of  wood,  and  carved  this 
beautiful  chamois,  just  like  a  living  one, 
only  so  small.  My  cousin,  who  was  travel- 
ling there,  bought  it  and  brought  it  home. 

When  the  summer  had  passed,  the  father 
came  down  from  the  high  pastures ;  the 
butter  and  cheese  making  was  over,  and  the 
autumn  work  was  now  to  be  done.  Do  you 
want  to  know  what  the  autumn  work  was. 


The  Little  Motmtain  Maiden.  53 

and  how  Jeannette  could  help  about  it  ?  I 
will  tell  you.  You  must  know  that  a  little 
way  down  the  mountain-side  is  a  grove  of 
chestnut-trees.  Did  you  ever  see  the  chest- 
nut-trees }  They  grow  in  our  woods,  and 
on  the  shores  of  some  ponds.  In  the  spring 
they  are  covered  with  long,  yellowish  blos- 
soms, and  all  through  the  hot  summer  those 
blossoms  are  at  work,  turning  into  sweet 
chestnuts,  wrapped  safely  in  round,  thorny 
balls,  which  will  prick  your  fingers  sadly  if 
you  don't  take  care.  But  when  the  frost  of 
the  autumn  nights  comes,  it  cracks  open  the 
prickly  ball  and  shows  a  shining  brown  nut 
inside ;  then,  if  we  are  careful,  we  may  pull 
off  the  covering  and  take  out  the  nut.  Some- 
times, indeed,  there  are  two,  three,  or  four 
nuts  in  one  shell ;  I  have  found  them  so 
myself. 

Now  the  autumn  work,  which  I  said  I 
would  tell  you  about,  is  to  gather  these 
chestnuts  and  store  them  away,  —  some  to 
be  eaten,  boiled  or  roasted,  by  the  bright 
fire  in  the  cold  winter  days  that  are  coming ; 
and  some  to  be  nicely  packed  in  great  bags. 


54  The  Seveji  Little  Sisters. 

and  carried  on  the  donkey  down  to  the  town 
to  be  sold.  The  boys  of  New  England,  too, 
know  what  good  fun  it  is  to  gather  nuts  in 
the  fall,  and  spread  them  over  the  garret  floor 
to  dry,  and  at  last  to  crack  and  eat  them  by 
the  winter  hearth.  So  when  the  father  says 
one  night  at  supper-time,  "  It  is  growing 
cold ;  I  think  there  will  be  a  frost  to-night," 
Jeannette  knows  very  well  what  to  do;  and 
she  dances  away  right  early  in  the  evening 
to  her  little  bed,  which  is  made  in  a  wooden 
box  built  up  against  the  side  of  the  wall, 
and  falls  asleep  to  dream  about  the  chestnut 
woods,  and  the  squirrels,  and  the  little  brook 
that  leaps  and  springs  from  rock  to  rock 
down  under  the  tall,  dark  trees. 

She  has  gone  to  bed  early,  that  she  may 
wake  with  the  first  daylight,  and  she  is  out 
of  bed  in  a  minute  when  she  hears  her 
father's  cheerful  call  in  the  morning,  "  Come, 
children,  it  is  time  to  be  off." 

Their  dinner  is  packed  in  a  large  basket. 
The  donkey  stands  ready  before  the  door, 
with  great  empty  bags  hanging  at  each  side, 
and   they  go  merrily   over  the  crisp   white 


The  Little  Mountain  Maiden.  55 

frost  to  the  chestnut-trees.  How  the  frost 
has  opened  the  burrs!  He  has  done  more 
than  half  their  work  for  them  ah*eady.  How 
they  laugh  and  sing  and  shout  to  each  other 
as  they  gather  the  smooth  brown  nuts,  filling 
their  baskets,  and  running  to  pour  them 
into  the  great  bags  !  It  is  merry  autumn 
work.  The  sun  looks  down  upon  them 
through  the  yellow  leaves,  and  the  rocks  give 
them  mossy  seats;  while  here  and  there 
comes  a  bird  or  a  squirrel  to  see  what  these 
strange  people  are  doing  in  their  woods. 

Jeannette  declares  that  the  chestnut  days 
are  the  best  in  the  year.  Perhaps  she  is  right. 
I  am  sure  I  should  enjoy  them,  should  n't 
you  ?  She  really  helps,  although  she  is  but 
a  little  girl,  and  her  father  says  at  night 
that  his  little  Jean  is  a  dear,  good  child.  It 
makes  her  very  happy.  She  thinks  of  what 
he  has  said  while  she  undresses  at  night, 
unbraiding  her  hair  and  unlacing  her  little 
blue  bodice  with  its  great  white  sleeves, 
and  she  goes  peacefully  to  sleep,  to  dream 
again  of  the  merry  autumn  days.  And  while 
she  dreams  good  angels  must  be  near  her, 


56  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

for  she  said  her  sweet  and  reverent  prayer 
on  her  knees,  with  a  full  and  thankful  heart 
to   the   All-Father   who  gave  her  so  many 

blessings. 

She  is  our  little  mountain  sister.  The 
mountain  life  is  a  fresh  and  happy  one.  I 
should  like  to  stay  with  this  little  sister  a 
long,  long  time. 


THE    STORY    OF   PEN-SE. 

Dear  children,  have  you  ever  watched  the 
sun  set  ?  If  you  live  in  the  country,  I  am  al- 
most sure  you  have  many  times  delighted 
yourselves  with  the  gold  and  rosy  clouds,. 
But  those  of  you  who  live  in  the  city  do  not 
often  have  the  opportunity,  the  high  houses 
and  narrow  streets  shut  out  so  much  of  the 
sky. 

I  am  so  happy  as  to  live  in  the  country; 
and  let  me  tell  you  where  I  go  to  see  the 
sun  set. 

The  house  in  which  I  live  has  some  dark, 
narrow  garret  stairs  leading  from  the  third 
story  into  a  small  garret  under  the  roof, 
and  many  and  many  a  time  do  I  go  up 
these  narrow  stairs,  and  again  up  to  the 
scuttle-window  in  the  roof,  open  it,  and  seat 
myself  on  the  top  step  or  on  the  roof  itself. 
Here  I  can  look  over  the  house-tops,  and 
even  over  the  tree-tops,  seeing  many  things 
of  which   I  may   perhaps   tell   you  at  some 

57 


58  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

time ;  but  to-night  we  are  to  look  at  the 
sunset. 

Can  you  play  that  you  are  up  here  with 
me,  looking  past  the  houses,  past  the  elm- 
trees  and  the  low  hills  that  seem  so  far 
away,  to  where  the  sun  hangs  low,  like  a 
great  red  ball,  so  bright  that  we  can  hardly 
look  at  it  ?  Watch  it  with  me.  Now  a  little 
part  has  disappeared ;  now  it  is  half  gone, 
and  in  a 'minute  more  we  see  nothing  but 
the  train  of  bright  clouds  it  has  left  behind. 

Where  did  it  go  ? 

It  seemed  to  slip  down  over  the  edge  of 
the  world.  To-morrow  morning,  if  you  are 
up  early,  you  will  see  it  come  back  again  on 
the  other  side.  As  it  goes  away  from  us  to- 
night, it  is  coming  to  somebody  who  lives 
far  away,  round  the  other  side  of  the  world. 
While  we  bad  the  sunshine,  she  had  night ; 
and  now,  when  night  is  coming  to  us,  it  is 
morning  for  her. 

I  think  men  have  always  felt  like  following 
the  sun  to  the  unknown  West,  beyond  its 
golden  gate  of  setting  day,  and  perhaps  that 
has  led  many  a  wanderer  on  his  path  of  dis- 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  59 

covery.  Let  us  follow  the  sun  over  the  roll- 
ing earth. 

The  sun  has  gone ;  shall  we  go,  too,  and 
take  a  peep  round  there  to  see  who  is  having 
morning  now  ? 

The  long,  bright  sunbeams  are  sliding 
over  the  tossing  ocean,  and  sparkling  on 
the  blue  water  of  a  river  upon  which  are 
hundreds  of  boats.  The  boats  are  not  like 
those  which  we  see  here,  with  white  sails  or 
long  oars.  They  are  clumsy,  square-looking 
things,  without  sails,  and  they  have  little 
sheds  or  houses  built  upon  them.  We  will 
look  into  one,  and  see  what  is  to  be  seen. 

There  is  something  like  a  little  yard  built 
all  around  this  boat;  in  it  are  ducks,  —  more 
ducks  than  you  can  well  count.  This  is 
their  bedroom,  where  they  sleep  at  night; 
but  now  it  is  morning,  and  they  are  all  stir- 
ring,—  waddling  about  as  well  as  they  can 
in  the  crowd,  and  quacking  with  most  noisy 
voices.  They  are  waking  up  Kang-hy,  their 
master,  who  lives  in  the  middle  of  the  boat; 
and  out  he  comes  from  the  door  of  his  odd 
house,    and    out    comes    little    Pen-se,    his 


6o  The   Seven  Little  Sisters. 

daughter,  who  likes  to  see  the  ducks  go  for 
their  breakfast. 

The  father  opens  a  gate  or  door  in  the 
basket-work  fence  of  the  ducks'  house,  and 
they  all  crowd  and  hurry  to  reach  the  water 
again,  after  staying  all  night  shut  up  in  this 
cage.  There  they  go,  tumbling  and  diving. 
Each  must  have  a  thorough  bath  first  of  all; 
then  the  old  drake  leads  the  way,  and  they 
swim  off  in  the  bright  water  along  the  shore 
for  a  hundred  yards,  and  then  among  the 
marshes,  where  they  will  feed  all  day,  and 
come  back  at  night  when  they  hear  the 
shrill  whistle  of  Kang-hy  calling  them  to 
come  home  and  go  to  bed. 

Pen-se  and  her  father  will  go  in  to  break- 
fast now,  under  the  bamboo  roof  which 
slides  over  the  middle  part  of  the  boat,  or 
can  be  pushed  back  if  they  desire.  As 
Kang-hy  turns  to  go  in,  and  takes  off  his 
bamboo  hat,  the  sun  shines  on  his  bare, 
shaved  head,  where  only  one  lock  of  hair  is 
left;  that  is  braided  into  a  long,  thick  tail, 
and  hangs  far  down  his  back.  He  is  very 
proud  of  it,  and  nothing  would  induce  him 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  6i 

to  have  it  cut  off.  Now  it  hangs  down  over 
his  loose  blue  nankeen  jacket,  but  when 
he  a:oes  to  work  he  will  twist  it  round  upon 
the  crown  of  his  head,  and  tuck  the  end 
under  the  coil  to  keep  it  out  of  the  way. 
Is  n't  this  a  funny  way  for  a  man  to  wear 
his  hair  ?  Pen-se  has  hers  still  in  little  soft 
curls,  but  by  and  by  it  will  be  braided,  and 
at  last  fastened  up  into  a  high  knot  on  the 
top  of  her  head,  as  her  mother's  is.  Her 
little  brother  Lin  already  has  his  head  shaved 
almost  bare,  and  waits  impatiently  for  the 
time  when  his  single  lock  of  hair  will  be 
long  enough  to  braid. 

When  I  was  a  child  it  was  a  very  rare 
thing  to  see  people  such  as  these  in  our 
own  land,  but  now  we  are  quite  familiar 
with  these  odd  ways  of  dressing,  and  our 
streets  have  many  of  these  funny  names  on 
their  signs. 

Shall  we  look  in  to  see  them  at  breakfast  t 
Tea  for  the  children  as  well  as  for  the  father 
and  mother.  They  have  no  milk,  and  do 
not  like  to  drink  water,  so  they  take  many 
cups  of  tea  every  day.     And  here,  too,  are 


62  The   Seven  Little   Sisters. 

their  bowls  of  rice  upon  the  table,  but  no 
spoons  or  forks  with  which  to  eat  it.  Pen- 
se,  however,  does  not  need  spoon  or  fork ; 
she  takes  two  small,  smooth  sticks,  and,  lift- 
ing the  bowl  to  her  mouth,  uses  the  sticks 
like  a  little  shovel.  You  would  spill  the 
rice  and  soil  your  dress  if  you  should  try 
to  do  so,  but  these  children  know  no  other 
way,  and  they  have  learned  to  do  it  quite 
carefully. 

The  sticks  are  called  chop-sticks ;  and  up 
in  the  great  house  on  the  hill,  where  Pen-se 
went  to  carry  fish,  lives  a  little  lady  who  has 
beautiful  pearl  chop-sticks,  and  wears  roses 
in  her  hair.  Pen-se  often  thinks  of  her,  and 
wishes  she  might  go  again  to  carry  the  fish^ 
and  see  some  of  the  beautiful  things  in  that 
garden  with  the  high  walls.  Perhaps  you 
have  in  your  own  house,  or  in  your  school- 
room, pictures  of  some  of  the  pretty  things 
that  may  have  been  there,  —  little  children 
and  ladies  dressed  in  flowery  gow^ns,  with 
fans  in  their  hands;  tea-tables  and  pretty 
dishes,  and  a  great  many  lovely  flowers  and 
beautiful  birds. 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  63 

But  now  she  must  not  stop  to  think. 
Breakfast  is  over,  and  the  father  must  go 
on  shore  to  his  work,  —  carrying  tea-boxes 
to  the  store  of  a  great  merchant.  Lin,  too, 
goes  to  his  work,  of  which  I  will  by  and  by 
tell  you ;  and  even  Pen-se  and  her  little  sis- 
ter, young  as  they  are,  must  go  with  their 
mother,  who  has  a  tanka-boat  in  which  she 
carries  fresh  fruit  and  vegetables  to  the  big 
ships  which  are  lying  off  shore.  The  two 
little  girls  can  help  at  the  oars,  while  the 
mother  steers  to  guide  the  boat. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  pleasant  it 
is  out  on  the  river  this  bright  morning.  A 
hundred  boats  are  moving ;  the  ducks  and 
geese  have  all  gone  up  the  stream ;  the 
people  who  live  in  the  boats  have  break- 
fasted, and  the  fishermen  have  come  out  to 
their  work.  This  is  Lin's  work.  He  works 
with  his  uncle  Chow,  and  already  his  blue 
trousers  are  stripped  above  his  knees,  and 
he  stands  on  the  wet  fishing-raft  watching 
some  brown  birds.  Suddenly  one  of  them 
plunges  into  the  water  and  brings  up  a  fish 
in   its   yellow   bill,     Lin   takes   it  out  and 


64  TJie  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

sends  the  bird  for  another ;  and  such  in- 
dustrious fishermen  are  the  brown  cormo- 
rants that  they  keep  Lin  and  his  uncle 
busy  all  the  morning,  until  the  two  large 
baskets  are  filled  with  fish,  and  then  the 
cormorants  may  catch  for  themselves.  Lin 
brings  his  bamboo  pole,  rests  it  across  his 
shoulders,  hangs  one  basket  on  each  end, 
and  goes  up  into  the  town  to  sell  his  fish. 
Here  it  was  that  Pen-se  went  on  that  happy 
day  when  she  saw  the  little  lady  in  the 
house  on  the  hill,  and  she  has  not  forgotten 
the  wonders  of  that  day  in  the  streets. 

The  gay  sign-posts  in  front  of  the  shops, 
with  colors  flying ;  the  busy  workmen,  — 
tinkers  mending  or  making  their  wares ; 
blacksmiths  with  all  their  tools  set  up  at 
the  corners  of  the  streets ;  barbers  with 
grave  faces,  intently  braiding  the  long  hair 
of  their  customers ;  water-carriers  with  deep 
water-buckets  hung  from  a  bamboo  pole, 
like  Lin's  fish-baskets ;  the  soldiers  in  their 
paper  helmets,  wadded  gowns,  and  quilted 
petticoats,  with  long,  clumsy  guns  over  their 
shoulders ;   and  learned  scholars  in  brown 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  65 

gowns,  blue  bordered,  and  golden  birds  on 
their  caps.  The  high  officers,  cousins  to 
the  emperor,  have  the  sacred  yellow  girdle 
round  their  waists,  and  very  long  braided 
tails  hanging  below  their  small  caps.  Here 
and  there  you  may  see  a  high,  narrow  box,' 
resting  on.  poles,  carried  by  two  men.  It  is 
the  only  kind  of  carriage  which  you  will  see 
in  these  streets,  and  in  it  is  a  lady  going  out 
to  take  the  air ;  although  I  am  sadly  afraid 
she  gets  but  little,  shut  up  there  in  her  box. 
I  would  rather  be  like  Pen-se,  a  poor,  hard- 
working little  girl,  with  a  fresh  life  on  the 
river,  and  a  hard  mat  spread  for  her  bed  in 
the  boat  at  night.  How  would  you  like  to 
live  in  a  boat  on  a  pleasant  river  with  the 
ducks  and  geese  t  I  think  you  would  have 
a  very  jolly  time,  rocked  to  sleep  by  the  tide, 
and  watched  over  by  the  dancing  boat-lights. 
But  this  poor  lady  could  n't  walk,  or  enjoy 
much,  if  she  were  allowed.  Shall  I  tell  you 
why.?  When  she  was  a  very  little  girl, 
srnaller  than  you  are,  smaller  than  Pen-se  is 
now,  her  soft  baby  feet  were  bound  up 
tightly,  the  toes  turned  and  pressed  under, 


66  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

and  the  poor  little  foot  cramped  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  stand.  This  was  done  that 
her  feet  might  never  grow  large,  for  in  this 
country  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  one 
is  considered  very  beautiful  who  has  small 
feet;  and  now  that  she  is  a  grown  lady,  as 
old  perhaps  as  your  mamma,  she  wears  such 
little  shoes  you  would  think  them  too  small 
for  yourself.  It  is  true  they  are  very  pretty 
shoes,  made  of  bright-colored  satin,  and 
worked  all  over  with  gold  and  silver  thread, 
and  they  have  beautiful  white  soles  of  rice- 
paper;  and  the  poor  lady  looks  down  at 
them  and  says  to  herself  proudly,  "  Only 
three  inches  long."  And  forgetting  how 
much  the  bandages  pained  her,  and  not 
thinking  how  sad  it  is  only  to  be  able  to 
hobble  about  a  little,  instead  of  running  and 
leaping  as  children  should,  she  binds  up  the 
feet  of  Lou,  her  dear  little  daughter,  in  the 
great  house  on  the  hill,  and  makes  her  a 
poor,  helpless  child ;  not  so  happy,  with  all 
her  flower-gardens,  gold  and  silver  fish,  and 
beautiful  a-old-feathered  birds,  as  Pen-se  with 
her  broad,  bare  feet,  and    comfortable,  fat 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  67 

little  toes,  as  she  stands  in  the  wet  tanka- 
boat,  helping  her  mother  wash  it  with  river- 
water,  while  the  leather  shoes  of  both  of 
them  lie  high  and  dry  on  the  edge  of  the 
wharf,  until  the  wet  work  is  done. 

But  we  are  forgetting  Lin,  who  has  carried 
his  fish  up  into  the  town  to  sell.  Here  is  a 
whole  street  where  nothing  is  sold  but  food. 
I  should  call  it  Market  Street,  and  I  dare  say 
they  do  the  same  in  a  way  of  their  own. 

What  will  all  these  busy  people  have  for  din- 
ner to-day  ?  Fat  bears '-paws,  brought  from 
the  dark  forest  fifty  miles  away,  —  these  will 
do  for  that  comfortable-looking  mandarin 
with  the  red  ball  on  the  top  of  his  cap.  I 
think  he  has  eaten  something  of  the  same 
kind  before.  A  birds'-nest  soup  for  my  lady 
in  the  great  house  on  the  hill ;  birds'  nests 
brought  from  the  rocks  where  the  waves 
dash,  and  the  birds  feel  themselves  very  safe. 
But  "  Such  a  delicious  soup ! "  said  Madam 
Faw-Choo,  and  Yang-lo,  her  son,  sent  the 
fisherman  again  to  the  black  rocks  for  more. 

What  will  the  soldiers  have,  —  the  officer 
who  wears   thick  satin  boots,  and  does  n't 


68  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

look  much  like  fighting  in  his  gay  silk 
dress  ?  A  stew  of  fat  puppies  for  him,  and 
only  boiled  rats  for  the  porter  who  carries 
the  heavy  tea-boxes.  But  there  is  tea  for 
all,  and  rice,  too,  as  much  as  they  desire ; 
and,  although  I  should  n't  care  to  be  invited 
to  dine  with  any  of  them,  I  don't  doubt 
they  enjoy  the  food  very  much. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  buying  and  selling 
Lin  sells  his  fish,  some  to  the  English  gentle- 
man, and  some  to  the  grave-faced  man  in 
the  blue  gown ;  and  he  goes  happily  home 
to  his  own  dinner  in  the  boat.  Rice  again, 
and  fried  mice,  and  the  merry  face  and 
small,  slanting  black  eyes  of  his  little  sister 
to  greet  him.  After  dinner  his  father  has  a 
pipe  to  smoke,  before  he  goes  again  to  his 
work.  After  all,  why  not  eat  puppies  and 
mice  as  well  as  calves  and  turtles  and  oysters  } 
And  as  for  birds'-nest  soup,  I  should  think 
it  quite  as  good  as  chicken  pie.  It  is  only 
custom  that  makes  any  difference. 

So  pass  the  days  of  our  child  Pen-se,  who 
lives  on  the  great  river  which  men  call  the 
child  of  the  ocean.     But  it  was  not  always 


The  Story  of  Pen-se.  69 

SO.  She  was  born  among  the  hills  where 
the  tea  grows  with  its  glossy,  myrtle-like 
leaves,  and  white,  fragrant  blossoms.  When 
the  tea-plants  were  in  bloom,  Pen-se  first 
saw  the  light ;  and  when  she  was  hardly 
more  than  a  baby  she  trotted  behind  her 
father,  while  he  gathered  the  leaves,  dried 
and  rolled  them,  and  then  packed  them  in 
square  boxes  to  come  in  ships  across  the 
ocean  for  your  papa  and  mine  to  drink. 

Here,  too,  grew  the  mulberry-trees,  with 
their  purple  fruit  and  white ;  and  Pen-se 
learned  to  know  and  to  love  the  little  worms 
that  eat  the  mulberry-leaves,  and  then  spin 
for  themselves  a  silken  shell,  and  fall  into 
a  long  sleep  inside  of  it.  She  watched  her 
mother  spin  off  the  fine  silk  and  make  it 
into  neat  skeins,  and  once  she  rode  on  her 
mother's  back  to  market  to  sell  it.  You 
could  gather  mulberry-leaves,  and  set  up 
these  little  silkworm  boxes  on  the  window- 
sill  of  your  schoolroom.  I  have  seen  silk 
and  flax  and  cotton  all  growing  in  a  pleasant 
schoolroom,  to  show  the  scholars  of  what 
linen  and  silk  and  cotton  are  made. 


70  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

Now  those  days  are  all  past.  She  can 
hardly  remember  them,  she  was  so  little 
then ;  and  she  has  learned  to  be  happy  in 
her  new  home  on  the  river,  where  they 
came  when  the  fire  burned  their  house,  and 
the  tea-plants  and  the  mulberry-trees  were 
taken  by  other  men„ 

Sometimes  at  night,  after  the  day's  work 
is  over,  the  ducks  have  come  home,  and  the 
stars  have  come  out,  she  sits  at  the  door  of 
the  boat-house,  and  watches  the  great  bright 
fireflies  over  the  marshes,  and  thinks  of  the 
blue  lake  Syhoo,  covered  with  lilies,  where 
gilded  boats  are  sailing,  and  the  people  seem 
so  happy. 

Up  in  the  high- walled  garden  of  the  great 
house  on  the  hill,  the  night-moths  have 
spread  their  broad,  soft  wings,  and  are  flit- 
ting among  the  flowers,  and  the  little  girl 
with  the  small  feet  lies  on  her  silken  bed, 
half  asleep.  She,  too,  thinks  of  the  lake 
and  the  lilies,  but  she  knows  nothing  about 
Pen-se,  who  lives  down  upon  the  river. 

See,  the  sun  has  gone  from  them.  It 
must  be  morning  for  us  now. 


THE   LITTLE   DARK   GIRL, 

In  this  part  of  the  world,  Manenko  would 
certainly  be  considered  a  very  wild  little  girl. 
I  wonder  how  you  would  enjoy  her  for  a 
playmate.  She  has  never  been  to  school,  al- 
though she  is  more  than  seven  years  old,  and 
does  n't  know  how  to  read,  or  even  to  tell  her 
letters ;  she  has  never  seen  a  book  but  once, 
and  she  has  never  learned  to  sew  or  to  knit. 

If  you  should  try  to  play  at  paper  dolls 
with  her,  she  would  make  very  funny  work 
with  the  dresses,  I  assure  you.  Since  she 
never  wore  a  gown  or  bonnet  or  shoes  her- 
self, how  should  she  know  how  to  put  them 
on  to  the  doll }  But,  if  she  had  a  doll  like 
herself,  I  am  sure  she  would  be  as  fond  of  it 
as  you  are  of  yours ;  and  it  would  be  a  very 
cunning  little  dolly,  I  should  think.  Per- 
haps you  have  one  that  looks  somewhat  like 
this  little  girl  in  the  picture. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  of  some  things  which 
she  can  do. 


72  The  S eve 71  Little  Sisters. 

She  can  paddle  the  small  canoe  on  the 
river ;  she  can  help  to  hoe  the  young  corn, 
and  can  find  the  wild  bees'  honey  in  the 
woods,  gather  the  scarlet  fruit  when  it  is 
fully  ripe  and  falls  from  the  trees,  and 
help  her  mother  to  pound  the  corn  in  the 
great  wooden  mortar.  All  this,  and  much 
more,  as  you  will  see,  Manenko  can  do ; 
for  every  little  girl  on  the  round  world 
can  help  her  mother,  and  do  many  useful 
things. 

Would  you  like  to  know  more  of  her, — 
how  she  looks,  and  where  she  lives,  and 
what  she  does  all  day  and  all  night  .f* 

Here  is  a  little  round  house,  with  low 
doorways,  most  like  those  of  a  dog's  house ; 
you  see  we  should  have  to  stoop  in  going  in. 
Look  at  the  round,  pointed  roof,  made  of 
the  long  rushes  that  grow  by  the  river,  and 
braided  together  firmly  with  strips  of  mimosa- 
bark  ;  fine,  soft  grass  is  spread  all  over  this 
roof  to  keep  out  the  rain. 

If  vou  look  on  the  roof  of  the  house  across 
the  street  you  will  see  that  it  is  covered 
with  strips  of  wood  called   shingles,  which 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  73 

are  laid  one  over  the  edge  of  the  other; 
and  when  it  is  a  rainy  day  you  can  see 
how  the  rain  slips  and  slides  off  from  these 
shingles,  and  runs  and  drips  away  from  the 
spout. 

Now,  on  this  little  house  where  Manenko 
lives  there  are  no  shingles,  but  the  smooth, 
slippery  grass  is  almost  as  good ;  and  the 
rain  slides  over  it  and  drips  away,  hardly 
ever  coming  in  to  wet  the  people  inside,  or 
the  hard  beds  made  of  rushes,  like  the  roof, 
and  spread  upon  the  floor  of  earth. 

In  this  house  lives  Manenko,  with  Maunka 
her  mother,  Sekomi  her  father,  and  Zungo 
and  Shobo  her  two  brothers. 

They  are  all  very  dark,  darker  than  the 
brown  baby.  I  believe  you  would  call  them 
black,  but  they  are  not  really  quite  so. 
Their  lips  are  thick,  their  noses  broad,  and 
instead  of  hair,  their  heads  are  covered  with 
wool,  such  as  you  might  see  on  a  black 
sheep.  This  wool  is  braided  and  twisted 
into  little  knots  and  strings  all  over  their 
heads,  and  bound  with  bits  of  red  string,  or 
any  gay-looking  thread.     They  think  it  looks 


74  J-^^^  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

beautiful,  but  I  am  afraid  we  should  not 
agree  with  them. 

Now  we  will  see  what  clothes  they  wear. 

You  remember  Agoonack,  who  wore  the 
white  bear's-skin,  because  she  lived  in  the 
very  cold  country ;  and  the  little  brown 
baby,  who  wore  nothing  but  a  string  of 
beads,  because  she  lived  in  the  warm  coun- 
try. Manenko,  too,  lives  in  a  warm  country, 
and  wears  no  clothes ;  but  on  her  arms  and 
ankles  are  bracelets  and  anklets,  with  little 
bits  of  copper  and  iron  hanging  to  them, 
which  tinkle  as  she  walks ;  and  she  also,  like 
the  brown  baby,  has  beads  for  her  neck. 

Her  father  and  mother,  and  Zungo  her 
brother,  have  aprons  and  mantles  of  ante- 
lope skins ;  and  they,  too,  wear  bracelets 
and  anklets  like  hers. 

Little  Shobo  is  quite  a  baby  and  runs  In 
the  sunshine,  like  his  little  sister,  without 
clothes.  Dear  little  Shobo !  how  funny  and 
happy  he  must  look,  and  how  fond  he  must 
be  of  his  little  sister,  and  our  little  sister, 
Manenko!  We  have  all  seen  such  little 
dark  brothers  and   sisters.     His  short,  soft 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  75 

wool  is  not  yet  braided  or  twisted,  but  crisps 
in  little  close  curls  all  over  his  head. 

In  the  morning  they  must  be  up  early, 
for  the  father  is  going  to  hunt,  and  Zungo 
will  go  with  him.  The  mother  prepares  the 
breakfast,  small  cakes  of  bread  made  from 
the  pounded  corn,  scarlet  beans,  eaten  with 
honey,  and  plenty  of  milk  from  the  brown 
cow.  She  brings  it  in  a  deep  jug,  and  they 
dip  in  their  hands  for  spoons. 

All  the  meat  is  eaten,  and  to-day  the  men 
must  go  out  over  the  broad,  grassy  fields  for 
more.  They  will  find  the  beautiful  young 
antelope,  so  timid  and  gentle  as  to  be  far 
more  afraid  of  you  than  you  would  be  of  them. 
They  are  somewhat  like  small  deer,  striped 
and  spotted,  and  they  have  large,  dark  eyes, 
so  soft  and  earnest  you  cannot  help  loving 
them.  Here,  too,  are  the  buffalo,  like  large 
cows  and  oxen  with  strong  horns,  and  the 
great  elephants  with  long  trunks  and  tusks. 
Sometimes  even  a  lion  is  to  be  met,  roused 
from  his  sleep  by  the  noise  of  the  hunters ; 
for  the  lion  sleeps  in  the  daytime  and  gen- 
erally walks   abroad  only  at  night.     When 


76  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

you  are  older  you  can  read  the  stories 
of  famous  lion  and  elephant  hunters,  and 
of  strange  and  thrilling  adventures  in  the 
"  Dark  Continent." 

It  would  be  a  wonderful  thing  to  you 
and  me  to  see  all  these  strange  or  beautiful 
animals,  but  Zungo  and  his  father  have  seen 
them  so  many  times  that  they  are  thinking 
only  of  the  meat  they  will  bring  home,  and, 
taking  their  long  spears  and  the  basket  of 
ground  nuts  and  meal  which  the  mother  has 
made  ready,  they  are  off  with  other  hunters 
before  the  sun  is  up. 

Now  the  mother  takes  her  hoe,  and,  call- 
ing her  little  girl  to  help,  hoes  the  young 
corn  which  is  growing  on  the  round  hill 
behind  the  house.  I  must  tell  you  some- 
thing about  the  little  hill  It  looks  like  any 
other  hill,  you  would  think,  and  could  hardly 
believe  that  there  is  anything  very  wonder- 
ful to  tell  about  it.     But  listen  to  me. 

A  great  many  years  ago  there  was  no  hill 
there  at  all,  and  the  ground  was  covered 
with  small  white  ants.  You  have  seen  the 
little  ant-houses  many  a  time  on  the  garden- 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  yy 

path,  and  all  the  ants  at  work,  carrying 
grains  of  sand  in  their  mouths,  and  running 
this  way  and  that,  as  if  they  were  busy  in 
the  most  important  work.  Oh,  the  little 
ants  are  very  wise !  They  seem  to  know 
how  to  contrive  great  things  and  are  never 
idle.  "  Go  to  the  ant ;  consider  her  ways, 
and  be  wise,"  said  one  of  the  world's  wisest 
men. 

Well,  on  the  spot  where  this  hill  now 
stands  the  white  ants  began  to  work.  They 
were  not  satisfied  with  small  houses  like 
those  which  we  have  seen,  but  they  worked 
day  after  day,  week  after  week,  and  even 
years,  until  they  had  built  this  hill  higher 
than  the  house  in  which  I  live,  and  inside 
it  is  full  of  chambers  and  halls,  and  wonder- 
ful arched  passages.  They  built  this  great 
house,  but  they  do  not  live  there  now.  I 
don't  know  why  they  moved,  —  perhaps 
because  they  did  n't  like  the  idea  of  having 
such  near  neighbors  when  Sekomi  began  to 
build  his  hut  before  their  doon  But,  how- 
ever it  was,  they  went,  and,  patient  little 
creatures  that  they  are,  built  another  just 


78  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

like  it  a  mile  or  so  away ;  and  Sekomi  said : 
"  The  hill  is  a  fine  place  to  plant  my  early 
corn." 

There  is  but  little  hoeing  to  do  this  morn- 
ing, and,  while  the  work  goes  on,  Shobo, 
the  baby,  rolls  in  the  grass,  sucking  a  piece 
of  sugar-cane,  as  I  have  seen  children  suck 
a  stick  of  candy.     Have  n't  you  t 

The  mother  has  baskets  to  make.  On 
the  floor  of  the  hut  is  a  heap  of  fine,  twisting 
tree-roots  which  she  brought  from  the  forest 
yesterday,  and  under  the  shadow  of  her 
grassy  roof  she  sits  before  the  door  weaving 
them  into  strong,  neat  baskets,  like  the  one 
in  which  the  men  carried  their  dinner  when 
they  went  to  hunt.  While  she  works  other 
women  come  too  with  their  work,  sit  beside 
her  in  the  shade,  and  chatter  away  in  a 
very  queer-sounding  language.  We  could  n't 
understand  it  at  all ;  but  we  should  hear 
them  always  call  Manenko's  mother  Ma- 
Zungo,  meaning  Zungo's  mother,  instead  of 
saying  Maunka,  which  you  remember  I  told 
you  is  her  name.  Zungo  is  her  oldest  boy, 
you  know,  and  ever  since  he  was  born  she 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  79 

has  been  called  nothing  but  Ma-Zungo, — 
just  as  if,  when  a  lady  comes  into  your 
school,  the  teacher  should  say :  "  This  is 
Joe's  mother,"  or  "This  is  Teddy's  mamma," 
so  that  the  children  should  all  know  her. 

So  the  mother  works  on  the  baskets  and 
talks  with  the  women ;  but  Manenko  has 
heard  the  call  of  the  honey-bird,  the  brisk 
little  chirp  of  "  Chiken,  chiken,  chik,  churr, 
churr,"  and  she  is  away  to  the  wood  to  fol- 
low his  call,  and  bring  home  the  honey. 

She  runs  beneath  the  tall  trees,  looking 
up  for  the  small  brown  bird ;  then  she  stops 
and  listens  to  hear  him  again,  when  close 
beside  her  comes  the  call,  "  Chiken,  chiken, 
chik,  churr,  churr,"  and  there  sits  the  brown 
bird  above  a  hole  in  the  tree,  where  the 
bees  are  flying  in  and  out,  their  legs  yellow 
with  honey-dust.  It  is  too  high  for  Manenko 
to  reach,  but  she  marks  the  place  and  says 
to  herself :  "  I  will  tell  Ra,  when  he  comes 
home."  Who  is  Ra  ?  Why,  that  is  her 
name  for  "  father."  She  turns  to  go  home, 
but  stops  to  listen  to  the  wild  shouts  and 
songs  of  the  women  who  have  left  the  huts 


8o  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

and  are  coming  down  towards  the  river  to 
welcome  their  chief  with  lulliloo,  praising 
him  by  such  strange  names  as  "  Great  lion," 
"  Great  buffalo." 

The  chief  comes  from  a  long  journey  with 
the  young  men  up  the  river  in  canoes,  to 
hunt  the  elephant,  and  bring  home  the  ivory 
tusks,  from  which  we  have  many  beautiful 
things  made.  The  canoes  are  full  of  tusks, 
and,  while  the  men  unload  them,  the  women 
are  shouting :  "  Sleep,  my  lord,  my  great 
chief."  Manenko  listens  while  she  stands 
under  the  trees,  —  listens  for  only  a  minute, 
and  then  runs  to  join  her  mother  and  add 
her  little  voice  to  the  general  noise. 

The  chief  is  very  proud  and  happy  to 
bring  home  such  a  load ;  before  sunset  it 
will  all  be  carried  up  to  the  huts,  the  men 
will  dress  in  their  very  best,  and  walk  in  a 
gay  procession.  Indeed,  they  can't  dress 
much  ;  no  coats  or  hats  or  nicely  polished 
boots  have  they  to  put  on,  but  some  will 
have  the  white  ends  of  oxen's  tails  in  their 
hair,  some  a  plume  of  black  ostrich  feathers, 
and  the  chief  himself  has  a  very  grand  cap 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  8i 

made  from  the  yellow  mane  of  an  old  lion. 
The  drum  will  beat,  the  women  will  shout, 
while  the  men  gather  round  a  fire,  and  roast 
and  eat  great  slices  of  ox-meat,  and  tell  the 
story  of  their  famous  elephant-hunt.  How 
they  came  to  the  bushes  with  fine,  silvery 
leaves  and  sweet  bark,  which  the  elephant 
eats,  and  there  hiding,  watched  and  waited 
many  hours,  until  the  ground  shook  with 
the  heavy  tread  of  a  great  mother-elephant 
and  her  two  calves,  coming  up  from  the 
river,  where  they  had  been  to  drink.  Their 
trunks  were  full  of  water,  and  they  tossed 
them  up,  spouting  the  water  like  a  fine 
shower-bath  over  their  hot  heads  and  backs, 
and  now,  cooled  and  refreshed,  began  to  eat 
the  silvery  leaves  of  the  bushes.  Then 
the  hunters  threw  their  spears  thick  and 
fast ;  after  two  hours,  the  great  creature  lay 
still  upon  the  ground,  —  she  was  dead. 

So  day  after  day  they  had  hunted,  loading 
the  canoes  with  ivory,  and  sailing  far  up  the 
river;  far  up  where  the  tall  rushes  wave, 
twisted  together  by  the  twining  morning- 
glory   vines ;    far    up    where    the    alligators 


82  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

make  great  nests  in  the  river-bank,  and 
lay  their  eggs,  and  stretch  themselves  in 
the  sunshine,  half  asleep  inside  their  scaly- 
armor;  far  up  where  the  hippopotamus  is 
standing  in  his  drowsy  dream  on  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  with  the  water  covering  him, 
head  and  all.  He  is  a  great,  sleepy  fellow, 
not  unlike  a  very  large,  dark-brown  pig,  with 
a  thick  skin  and  no  hair.  Here  he  lives 
under  the  water  all  day,  only  once  in  a  while 
poking  up  his  nose  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
And  here  is  the  mother-hippopotamus,  with 
her  baby  standing  upon  her  neck,  that  he 
may  be  nearer  the  top  of  the  water.  Think 
how  funny  he  must  look. 

All  day  long  they  stand  here  under  the 
water,  half  asleep,  sometimes  giving  a  loud 
grunt  or  snore,  and  sometimes,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  tipping  over  a  canoe  which  happens 
to  float  over  their  heads.  But  at  night, 
when  men  are  asleep,  the  great  beasts  come 
up  out  of  the  river  and  eat  the  short,  sweet 
grass  upon  the  shore,  and  look  about  to  see 
the  world  a  little.  Oh,  what  mighty  beasts ! 
Men  are  so  small   and  weak   beside   them. 


The  Little  Dark  Girl.  83 

And  yet,  because  the  mind  of  man  is  so 
much  above  theirs,  he  can  rule  them ;  for 
God  made  man  to  be  king  of  the  whole 
earth,  and  greater  than  all. 

All  these  wonderful  things  the  men  have 
seen,  and  Manenko  listens  to  their  stories 
until  the  moon  is  high  and  the  stars  have 
almost  faded  in  her  light.  Then  her  father 
and  Zungo  come  home,  bringing  the  ante- 
lope and  buffalo  meat,  too  tired  to  tell  their 
story  until  the  next  day.  So,  after  eating 
supper,  they  are  all  soon  asleep  upon  the 
mats  which  form  their  beds.  It  is  a  hard 
kind  of  bed,  but  a  good  one,  if  you  don't 
have  too  many  mice  for  bedfellows.  A  little 
bright-eyed  mouse  is  a  pretty  creature,  but 
one  does  n't  care  to  sleep  with  him. 

These  are  simple,  happy  people  ;  they  live 
out  of  doors  most  of  the  time,  and  they  love 
the  sunshine,  the  rain,  and  the  wind.  They 
have  plenty  to  eat,  —  the  pounded  corn, 
milk  and  honey,  and  scarlet  beans,  and  the 
hunters  bring  meat,  and  soon  it  will  be  time 
for  the  wild  water-birds  to  come  flocking 
down  the  river,  —  white  pelicans  and  brown 


84  TJie  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

ducks,  and  hundreds  of  smaller  birds  that 
chase  the  skimming  flies  over  the  water. 

If  Manenko  could  read,  she  would  be 
sorry  that  she  has  no  books ;  and  if  she 
knew  what  dolls  are,  she  mioht  be  longing- 
every  day  for  a  beautiful  wax  doll,  with 
curling  hair,  and  eyes  to  open  and  shut. 
But  these  are  things  of  which  she  knows 
nothing  at  all,  and  she  is  happy  enough  in 
watching  the  hornets  building  their  hanging 
nests  on  the  branches  of  the  trees,  cutting 
the  small  sticks  of  sugar-cane,  or  following 
the  honey-bird's  call. 

If  the  children  who  have  books  would 
oftener  leave  them,  and  study  the  wonders 
of  the  things  about  them,  —  o.  die  birds,  the 
plants,  the  curious  creatures  that  live  and 
work  on  the  land  and  in  the  air  and  water, 
—  it  would  be  better  for  them.  Try  it,  dear 
children ;  open  your  eyes  and  look  into  the 
ways  and  forms  of  life  in  the  midst  of  which 
God  has  placed  you,  and  get  acquainted 
with  them,  till  you  feel  that  they,  too,  are 
your  brothers  and  sisters,  and  God  your 
Father  and  theirs. 


i  1 


LOUISE,  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  BEAUTI 
FUL   RIVER    RHINE. 

Have  you  heard  of  the  beautiful  River 
Rhine  —  how  at  first  it  hides,  a  little  brook 
among  the  mountains  and  dark  forests,  and 
then  steals  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  leaps 
down  the  mountain-side,  and  hurries  away 
to  the  sea,  growing  larger  and  stronger  as 
it  runs,  curling  and  eddying  among  the 
rocks,  and  sweeping  between  the  high  hills 
where  the  grape-vines  grow  and  the  solemn 
old  castles  stand  ? 

How  people  come  from  far  and  near  to 
see  and  to  sail  upon  the  beautiful  river ! 
And  the  children  who  are  so  blessed  as  to 
be  born  near  it,  and  to  play  on  its  shores 
through  all  the  happy  young  years  of  their 
lives,  although  they  may  go  far  away  from 
it  in  the  after  years,  never,  never  forget  the 
dear  and  beautiful  River  Rhine. 

It  is  only  a  few  miles  away  from  the 
Rhine  —  perhaps   too  far  for  you  to  walk, 

8? 


86  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

but  not  too  far  for  me  —  that  we  shall  find 
a  fine  large  house,  a  house  with  pleasant 
gardens  about  it,  broad  gravel  walks,  and 
soft,  green  grass-plats  to  play  upon,  and 
gay  flowering  trees  and  bushes,  while  the 
rose-vines  are  climbing  over  the  piazza, 
and  opening  rose-buds  are  peeping  in  at 
the  chamber  windows. 

Is  n't  this  a  pleasant  house  ?  I  wish  we 
could  all  live  in  as  charming  a  home,  by  as 
blue  and  lovely  a  river,  and  with  as  large 
and  sweet  a  garden,  or,  if  we  might  have 
such  a  place  for  our  school,  how  delightful 
it  w^ould  be ! 

Here  lives  Louise,  my  blue-eyed,  sunny- 
haired  little  friend,  and  here  in  the  garden 
she  plays  with  Fritz  and  sturdy  little 
Gretchen.  And  here,  too,  at  evening  the 
father  and  mother  come  to  sit  on  the  piazza 
among  the  roses,  and  the  children  leave 
their  games,  to  nestle  together  on  the  steps 
while  the  dear  brother  Christian  plays  softly 
and  sweetly  on  his  flute. 

Louise  is  a  motherly  child,  already  eight 
years  old,   and   always   willing  and  glad  to 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Rhine.  Sy 

take  care  of  the  younger  ones ;  indeed,  she 
calls  Gretchen  her  baby,  and  the  little  one 
loves  dearly  her  child-mamma. 

They  live  in  this  great  house,  and  they 
have  plenty  of  toys  and  books,  and  plenty 
of  good  food,  and  comfortable  little  beds  to 
sleep  in  at  night,  although,  like  Jeannette's, 
they  are  only  neat  little  boxes  built  against 
the  side  of  the  wall. 

But  near  them,  in  the  valley,  live  the 
poor  people,  in  small,  low  houses.  They 
eat  black  bread,  wear  coarse  clothes,  and 
even  the  children  must  work  all  day  that 
they  may  have  food  for  to-morrow. 

The  mother  of  Louise  is  a  gentle,  loving 
woman ;  she  says  to  her  children :  "  Dear 
children,  to-day  we  are  rich,  we  can  have 
all  that  we  want,  but  we  will  not  forget 
the  poor.  You  may  some  day  be  poor 
yourselves,  and,  if  you  learn  now  what 
poverty  is,  you  will  be  more  ready  to  meet 
it  when  it  comes."  So,  day  after  day,  the 
Q^reat  stove  in  the  kitchen  is  covered  with 
stew-pans  and  kettles,  in  which  are  cooking 
dinners  for  the  sick  and  the  poor,  and  day 


88  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

after  day,  as  the  dinner-hour  draws  near, 
Louise  will  come,  and  Fritz,  and  even  little 
Gretchen,  saying :  "  Mother,  may  I  go  ? " 
"  May  I  go  ? "  and  the  mother  answers : 
"Dear  children,  you  shall  all  go  together"; 
and  she  fills  the  bowls  and  baskets,  and 
sends  her  sunny-hearted  children  down  into 
the  valley  to  old  Hans  the  gardener,  who 
has  been  lame  with  rheumatism  so  many 
years ;  and  to  young  Marie,  the  pale,  thin 
girl,  who  was  so  merry  and  rosy-cheeked 
in  the  vineyard  a  year  ago ;  and  to  the  old, 
old  woman  with  the  brown,  wrinkled  face 
and  bowed  head,  who  sits  always  in  the 
sunshine  before  the  door,  and  tries  to  knit ; 
but  the  needles  drop  from  the  poor  trem- 
bling hands,  and  the  stitches  slip  off,  and 
she  cannot  see  to  pick  them  up.  She  is  too 
deaf  to  hear  the  children  as  they  come 
down  the  road,  and  she  is  nodding  her  poor 
old  head,  and  feeling  about  in  her  lap  for 
the  lost  needle,  when  Louise,  with  her 
bright  eyes,  spies  it,  picks  it  up,  and  before 
the  old  woman  knows  she  has  come,  a  soft 
little   hand   is   laid   in   the  brown,  wrinkled 


Louise^,   the   Child  of  the  Rhine.  89 

one,  and  the  little  girl  is  shouting  in  her 
ear  that  she  has  brought  some  dinner  from 
mamma.  It  makes  a  smile  shine  in  the  old, 
half-blind  eyes.  It  is  always  the  happiest 
part  of.  the  day  to  her  when  the  dear  little 
lady  comes  with  her  dinner.  And  it  made 
Louise  happy  too,  for  nothing  repays  us  so 
well  as  what  we  do  unselfishly  for  others. 

These  summer  days  are  full  of  delight  for 
the  children.  It  is  not  all  play  for  them,  to 
be  sure ;  but  then,  work  is  often  even  more 
charming  than  play,  as  I  think  some  little 
girls  know  when  they  have  been  helping 
their  mothers,  —  running  of  errands,  dust- 
ing the  furniture,  and  sewing  little  squares 
of  patchwork  that  the  baby  may  have  a 
cradle-quilt  made  entirely  by  her  little  sister. 

Louise  can  knit,  and,  indeed,  every  child 
and  woman  in  that  country  knits.  You 
would  almost  laugh  to  see  how  gravely  the 
little  girl  takes  out  her  stocking,  for  she 
has  really  begun  her  first  stocking,  and  sits 
on  the  piazza-stepfc  for  an  hour  every  morn- 
ing at  work.  Then  the  little  garden,  which 
she  calls  her  own,  must  be   weeded.     The 


90  The   Seven  Little   Sisters. 

"gardener  would  gladly  do  it,  but  Louise  has 
a  hoe  of  her  own,  which  her  father  bought 
in  the  spring,  and,  bringing  it  to  his  little 
daughter,  said :  "  Let  me  see  how  well  my 
little  girl  can  take  care  of  her  own  garden." 
And  the  child  has  tried  very  hard ;  some- 
times, it  is  true,  she  would  let  the  weeds 
grow  pretty  high  before  they  were  pulled 
up,  but,  on  the  whole,  the  garden  promises 
well,  and  there  are  buds  on  her  moss-rose 
bush.  It  is  good  to  take  care  of  a  garden, 
for,  besides  the  pleasure  the  flowers  can 
bring  us,  we  learn  how  watchful  we  must 
be  to  root  out  the  weeds,  and  how  much 
trimming  and  care  the  plants  need ;  so 
we  learn  how  to  watch  over  our  own 
hearts. 

She  has  books,  too,  and  studies  a  little  each 
day,  —  studies  at  home  with  her  mother,  for 
there  is  no  school  near  enough  for  her  to  go 
to  it,  and  while  she  and  Fritz  are  so  young, 
their  mother  teaches  them,  while  Christian, 
who  is  already  more  than  twelve  years  old, 
has  gone  to  the  school  upon  that  beautiful 
hill  which  can  be  seen  from  Louise's  cham- 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Rhine.  gr 

ber  window,  —  the  school  where  a  hundred 
boys  and  girls  are  studying  music.  For, 
ever  since  he  was  a  baby.  Christian  has 
loved  music ;  he  has  sung  the  very  sweetest 
little  songs  to  Louise,  while  she  was  yet  so 
young  as  to  lie  in  her  cradle,  and  he  has 
whistled  until  the  birds  among  the  bushes 
would  answer  him  again,  and  now,  when  he 
comes  home  from  school  to  spend  some 
long  summer  Sunday,  he  always  brings  the 
flute,  and  plays,  as  I  told  you  m  the  begin- 
ning of  the  story. 

When  the  summer  days  are  over,  what 
comes  next  ?  You  do  not  surely  forget  the 
autumn,  when  the  leaves  of  the  maples  turn 
crimson  and  yellow,  and  the  oaks  are  red 
and  brown,  and  you  scuff  your  feet  along 
the  path  ankle-deep  in  fallen  leaves ! 

On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  the  autumn 
is  not  quite  like  ours.  You  shall  see  how 
our  children  of  the  great  house  will  spend 
an  autumn  day. 

Their  father  and  mother  have  promised 
to  go  with  them  to  the  vineyards  as  soon 
as  the  grapes  are  ripe  enough  for  gathering, 


92  77?^   Seven   Little   Sisters. 

and  on  this  sunny  September  morning  the 
time  has  really  come. 

In  the  great  covered  baskets  are  slices  of 
bread  and  German  sausage,  bottles  of  milk 
and  of  beer,  and  plenty  of  fresh  and  delicious 
prunes,  for  the  prune  orchards  are  loaded 
with  ripe  fruit.  This  is  their  dinner,  for 
they  will  not  be  home  until  night. 

Oh,  what  a  charming  day  for  the  children ! 
Little  Gretchen  is  rolling  in  the  grass  with 
delight,  while  Louise  runs  to  bring  her  own 
little  basket,  in  which  to  gather  grapes. 

They  must  ride  in  the  broad  old  family 
carriage,  for  the  little  ones  cannot  walk  so 
far ;  but,  when  they  reach  the  river,  they  will 
take  a  boat  with  white  sails,  and  go  down  to 
where  the  steep  steps  and  path  lead  up  on 
the  other  side,  up  the  sunny  green  bank  to 
the  vineyard,  where  already  the  peasant  girls 
have  been  at  work  ever  since  sunrise.  Here 
the  grapes  are  hanging  in  heavy,  purple 
clusters ;  the  sun  has  warmed  them  through 
and  through,  and  made  them  sweet  to  the 
very  heart.  Oh,  how  delicious  they  are, 
and  how  beautiful  they  look,  heaped  up  in 


Louise,   the  Child  of  the  Rhine.  93 

the  tall  baskets,  which  the  girls  and  women 
are  carrying  on  their  heads  !  How  the  chil- 
dren watch  these  peasant-girls,  all  dressed 
in  neat  little  jackets,  and  many  short  skirts 
one  above  another,  red  and  blue,  white  and 
green.  On  their  heads  are  the  baskets  of 
grapes,  and  they  never  drop  nor  spill  them, 
but  carry  them  steadily  down  the  steep, 
narrow  path  to  the  great  vats,  where  the 
young  men  stand  on  short  ladders  to  reach 
the  top,  and  pour  in  the  purple  fruit.  Then 
the  grapes  are  crushed  till  the  purple  juice 
runs  out,  and  that  is  ivine, — such  wine  as 
even  the  children  may  drink  in  their  little 
silver  cups,  for  it  is  even  better  than  milk. 
You  may  be  sure  that  they  have  some  at 
dinner-time,  when  they  cluster  round  the 
flat  rock  below  the  dark  stone  castle,  with 
the  warm  noonday  sun  streaming  across 
their  mossy  table,  and  the  mother  opens  the 
basket  and  gives  to  every  one  a  share. 

Below  them  is  the  river,  with  its  boats 
and  beautiful  shining  water;  behind  them 
are  the  vine-covered  walls  of  that  old  castle 
where  two  hundred  years  ago  lived  armed 


94  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

knights  and  stately  ladies ;  and  all  about 
them  is  the  rich  September  air,  full  of  the 
sweet  fragrance  of  the  grapes,  and  echoing 
with  the  songs  and  laughter  of  the  grape- 
gatherers.  On  their  rocky  table  are  purple 
bunches  of  fruit,  in  their  cups  the  new  wine- 
juice,  and  in  their  hearts  all  the  joy  of  the 
merry  grape  season. 

There  are  many  days  like  this  in  the 
autumn,  but  the  frost  will  come  at  last, 
and  the  snow  too.  This  is  winter,  but 
winter  brings  the  best  pleasure  of  all. 

When  two  weeks  o^  the  winter  had  nearly 
passed,  the  children,  as  you  may  suppose, 
began  to  think  of  Christmas,  and,  indeed, 
their  best  and  most  loving  friend  had  been 
preparing  for  them  the  sweetest  of  Christ- 
mas presents.  Ten  days  before  Christmas 
it  came,  however.  Can  you  guess  what  it 
was  .f*  Something  for  all  of  them,  —  some- 
thing which  Christian  will  like  just  as  well 
as  little  Gretchen  will,  and  the  father  and 
mother  will  perhaps  be  more  pleased  than 
any  one  else. 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?     What  do  you 


Louise,   the  Child  of  the  RJiine.  95 

think  of  a  little  baby  brother,  —  a  little 
round,  sweet,  blue-eyed  baby  brother  as  a 
Christmas  present  for  them  all  ? 

When  Christmas  Eve  came,  the  mother 
said:  "  The  children  must  have  their  Christ- 
mas-tree in  my  room,  for  baby  is  oqc  of  the 
presents,  and  I  don't  think  I  can  let  him  be 
carried  out  and  put  upon  the  table  in  the 
hall,  where  we  had  it  last  year." 

So  all  day  long  the  children  are  kept  away 
from  their  mother's  room.  Their  father 
comes  home  with  his  great  coat-pockets 
very  full  of  something,  but,  of  course,  the 
children  don't  know  what.  He  comes  and 
goes,  up  stairs  and  down,  and,  while  they 
are  all  at  play  in  the  snow,  a  fine  young  fir- 
tree  is  brought  in  and  carried  up.  Louise 
knows  it,  for  she  picked  up  a  fallen  branch 
upon  the  stairs,  but  she  does  n't  tell  Fritz 
and  Gretchen. 

How  they  all  wait  and  long  for  the  night 
to  come !  They  sit  at  the  windows,  watch- 
ing the  red  sunset  light  upon  the  snow,  and 
cannot  think  of  playing  or  eating  their  sup- 
per.    The  parlor  door  is  open,  and  all  are 


g6  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

waiting  and  listening.  A  little  bell  rings, 
and  in  an  instant  there  is  a  scampering  up 
the  broad  stairs  to  the  door  of  mothers 
room ;  again  the  little  bell  rings,  and  the 
door  is-  opened  wide  by  their  father,  who 
stands  hidden  behind  it 

At  the  foot  of  their  mother's  white- 
curtained  bed  stands  the  little  fir-tree;  tiny 
candles  are  burning  all  over  it  like  little 
stars,  and  glittering  golden  fruits  are  hang- 
ing among  the^  dark-green  branches.  On 
the  white-covered  table  are  laid  Fritz's 
sword  and  Gretchen's  big  doll,  they  being 
too  heavy  for  the  tree  to  hold.  Under  the 
branches  Louise  finds  charming  things; 
such  a  little  work-box  as  it  is  a  delight  to 
see,  with  a  lock  and  key,  and  inside,  thim- 
ble and  scissors,  and  neat  little  spools  of 
silk  and  thread.  Then  there  are  the  fairy 
stories  of  the  old  Black  Forest,  and  that  most 
charming  of  all  little  books, "  The  White  Cat," 
and  an  ivory  cup  and  ball  for  Fritz.  Do  you 
remember  where  the  ivory  comes  from } 
And,  lest  Baby  Hans  should  think  himself 
forgotten,  there  is  an  ivory  rattle  for  him. 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Rhine.  97 

There  he  Hes  in  the  nurse's  arms,  his 
blue  eyes  wide  open  with  wonder,  and  in  a 
minute  the  children,  with  arms  full  of  pres- 
ents, have  gathered  round  the  old  woman's 
arm-chair, — gathered  round  the  best  and 
sweetest  little  Christmas  present  of  all.  And 
the  happy  mother,  who  sits  up  among  the 
pillows,  taking  her  supper,  while  she  watches 
her  children,  forgets  to  eat,  and  leaves  the 
gruel  to  grow  cold,  but  her  heart  is  warm 
enough. 

Why  is  not  Christian  here  to-night  .f*  In 
the  school  of  music,  away  on  the  hill,  he  is 
singing  a  grand  Christmas  hymn,  with  a 
hundred  young  voices  to  join  him.  It  is 
very  grand  and  sweet,  full  of  thanks  and  of 
love.  It  makes  the  little  boy  feel  nearer  to 
all  his  loved  ones,  and  in  his  heart  he  is 
thanking  the  dear  Father  who  has  given 
them  that  best  little  Christmas  present, — 
the  baby. 


LOUISE,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE 
WESTERN    POOREST. 

There  are  many  things  happening  in  this 
world,  dear  children,  —  things  that  happen 
to  you  yourselves  day  after  day,  which  you 
are  too  young  to  understand  at  the  time. 
By  and  by,  when  you  grow  to  be  as  old  as 
I  am,  you  will  remember  and  wonder  about 
them  all. 

Now,  it  was  just  one  of  these  wonderful 
things,  too  great  for  the  young  children 
to  understand,  that  happened  to  our  little 
Louise  and  her  brothers  and  sister  when 
the  Christmas  time  had  come  around  again, 
and  the  baby  was  more  than  a  year  old. 

It  was  a  cold,  stormy  night;  there  were 

great    drifts    of    snow,    and    the    wind    was 

driving    it    against    the    windows.     In    the 

beautiful  great  parlor,  beside  the  bright  fire, 

sat  the  sweet,  gentle  mother,  and  in  her  lap 

lay  the  stout  little  Hans.     The  children  had 

their  little  chairs  before  the  fire,  and  watched 

98 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.      99 

the  red  and  yellow  flames,  while  Louise  had 
already  taken  out  her  knitting-work. 

They  were  all  very  still,  for  their  father 
seemed  sad  and  troubled,  and  the  children 
were  wondering  what  could  be  the  matter. 
Their  mother  looked  at  them  and  smiled, 
but,  after  all,  it  was  only  a  sad  smile,  I 
think  it  is  hardest  for  the  father,  when  he 
can  no  longer  give  to  wife  and  children 
their  pleasant  home ,  but,  if  they  can  be 
courageous  and  happy  when  they  have  to 
give  it  up,  it  makes  his  heart  easier  and 
brighter. 

.  "  I  must  tell  the  children  to-night,"  said 
the  father,  looking  at  his  wife,  and  she 
answered  quite  cheerfully :  "  Yes,  tell  them  ; 
they  will  not  be  sad  about  it  I  know." 

So  the  father  told  to  his  wondering  little 
ones  that  he  had  lost  all  his  money ;  the 
beautiful  great  house  and  gardens  were  no 
longer  his,  and  they  must  all  leave  their 
pleasant  home  near  the  Rhine,  and  cross 
the  great,  tossing  ocean,  to  find  a  new  home 
among  the  forests  or  the  prairies. 

As  you  may  suppose,  the  children  did  n't 


lOO  The  Seven  Little  Sisters, 

fully  understand  this.  I  don't  think  you 
would  yourself.  You  would  be  quite  de- 
lighted with  the  packing  and  moving,  and 
the  pleasant  journey  in  the  cars,  and  the 
new  and  strange  things  you  would  see 
on  board  the  ship,  and  it  would  be  quite 
a  long  time  before  you  could  really  know 
what  it  was  to  lose  your  own  dear  home. 

So  the  children  were  not  sad ;  you  know 
their  mother  said  they  would  not  be.  But 
when  they  were  safely  tucked  up  in  their 
little  beds,  and  tenderly  kissed  by  the  most 
loving  lips,  Louise  could  not  go  to  sleep  for 
thinking  of  this  strange  moving,  and  won- 
dering what  they  should  carry,  and  how 
long  they  should  stay.  For  she  had  herself 
once  been  on  a  visit  to  her  uncle  in  the  city, 
carrying  her  clothes  in  a  new  little  square 
trunk,  and  riding  fifty  miles  in  the  cars,  and 
she  thought  it  would  be  quite  a  fine  thing 
that  they  should  all  pack  up  trunks  full  of 
clothing,  and  go  together  on  even  a  longer 
journey. 

A  letter  had  been  written  to  tell  Christian, 
and  the  next  day  he  came  home  from  the 


Louise, -the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.      loi 

school.  His  uncles  in  the  city  begged  him 
to  stay  with  them,  but  the  boy  said  earnestly : 
"  If  my  father  must  cross  the  sea,  I  too 
must  go  with  him." 

They  waited  only  for  the  winter's  cold  to 
pass  away,  and  when  the  first  robins  began 
to  sing  among  the  naked  trees,  they  had 
left  the  fine  large  house,  —  left  the  beautiful 
gardens  where  the  children  used  to  play, 
left  the  great,  comfortable  arm-chairs  and 
sofas,  the  bookcases  and  tables,  and  the 
little  beds  beside  the  wall.  Besides  their 
clothes,  they  had  taken  nothing  with  them 
but  two  great  wooden  chests  full  of  beauti- 
ful linen  sheets  and  table-cloths.  These  had 
been  given  to  the  mother  by  her  mother 
long  ago,  before  any  of  the  children  were 
born,  and  they  must  be  carried  to  the  new 
home.  You  will  see,  by  and  by,  how  glad 
the  family  all  were  to  have  them. 

Did  you  ever  go  on  board  a  ship  ?  It  is 
almost  like  a  great  house  upon  the  water, 
but  the  rooms  in  it  are  very  small,  and  so 
are  the  windows.  Then  there  is  the  long 
deck,  where  we  may  walk  in  the  fresh  air 


I02  The   Seven  Little   Sisters. 

and  watch  the  water  and  the  sea-birds,  or 
the  sailors  at  work  upon  the  high  masts 
among  the  ropes,  and  the  white  sails  that 
spread  out  like  a  white  bird's  wings,  and 
sweep  the  ship  along  over  the  water. 

It  was  in  such  a  ship  that  our  children 
found  themselves,  with  their  father  and 
mother,  when  the  snow  was  gone  and  young 
grass  was  beginning  to  spring  up  on  the 
land.  But  of  this  they  could  see  nothing, 
for  in  a  day  they  had  flown  on  the  white 
wings  far  out  over  the  water,  and  as  Louise 
clung  to  her  father's  hand  and  stood  upon 
the  deck  at  sunset,  she  saw  only  water  and 
sky  all  about  on  every  side,  and  the  red 
clouds  of  the  sunset.  It  was  a  little  sad, 
and  quite  strange  to  her,  but  her  younger 
brothers  and  sisters  were  already  asleep  in 
the  small  beds  of  the  ship,  which,  as  perhaps 
you  know,  are  built  up  against  the  wall,  just 
as  their  beds  were  at  home.  Louise  kissed 
her  father  and  went  down,  too,  to  bed,  for 
you  must  know  that  on  board  ship  you  go 
dow7i  stairs  to  bed  instead  of  up  stairs. 

After  all,  if  father,  mother,  brother,  and 


Louise t  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     103 

sister  can  still  cling  to  each  other  and  love 
each  other,  it  makes  little  difference  where 
they  are,  for  love  is  the  best  thing  in  the 
universe,  and  nothing  is  good  without  it. 

They  lived  for  many  days  in  the  ship, 
and  the  children,  after  a  little  time,  were 
not  afraid  to  run  about  the  deck  and  talk 
with  the  sailors,  who  were  always  very  kind 
to  them.  And  Louise  felt  quite  at  home 
sitting  in  her  little  chair  beside  the  great 
mast,  while  she  knit  upon  her  stocking, — 
a  little  stocking  now,  one  for  the  baby. 

Christian  had  brought  his  flute,  and  at 
night  he  played  to  them  as  he  used  at 
home,  and,  indeed,  they  were  all  so  loving 
and  happy  together  that  it  was  not  much 
sorrow  to  lose  the  home  while  they  kept 
each  other. 

Sometimes  a  hard  day  would  come,  when 
the  clouds  swept  over  them,  and  the  rain 
and  the  great  waves  tossed  the  ship,  making 
them  all  sick,  and  sad  too,  for  a  time  ;  but  the 
sun  was  sure  to  come  out  at  last,  as  I  can 
assure  you  it  al  vays  will,  and,  on  the  whole, 
it  was  a  pleasant  journey  for  them  all. 


I04  The   Seven  Little  Sisters. 

It  was  a  fine,  sunny  May  day  when  they 
reached  the  land  again.  No  time,  though, 
for  them  to  go  Maying,  for  only  see  how 
much  is  to  be  done !  Here  are  all  the 
trunks  and  the  linen-chests,  and  all  the  chil- 
dren, too,  to  be  disposed  of,  and  they  are  to 
stop  but  two  days  in  this  city.  Then  they 
must  be  ready  for  a  long  journey  in  the 
cars  and  steamboats,  up  rivers  and  across 
lakes,  and  sometimes  for  miles  and  miles 
through  woods,  where  they  see  no  houses 
nor  people,  excepting  here  and  there  a 
single  log  cabin  with  two  or  three  ragged 
children  at  play  outside,  or  a  baby  creeping 
over  the  door-step,  while  farther  on  among 
the  trees  stands  a  man  with  his  axe,  cutting, 
with  heavy  blows,  some  tall  trees  into  such 
logs  as  those  of  which  the  house  is  built. 

These  are  new  and  strange  sights  to  the 
children  of  the  River  Rhine.  They  wonder, 
and  often  ask  their,  parents  if  they,  too,  shall 
live  in  a  little  loo^  house  like  that. 

How  fresh  and  fragrant  the  new  logs  are 
for  the  dwelling,  and  how  sweet  the  pine 
and  spruce  boughs  for  a  bed  !     A  good  new 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     105 

log  house  in  the  green  woods  is  the  best 
home  in  the  world. 

Oh,  how  heartily  tired  they  all  are  when 
at  last  they  stop !  They  have  been  riding 
by  day  and  by  night.  The  children  have 
fallen  asleep  with  heads  curled  down  upon 
their  arms  upon  the  seats  of  the  car,  and 
the  mother  has  had  very  hard  work  to  keep 
little  Hans  contented  and  happy.  But  here 
at  last  they  have  stopped.  Here  is  the  new 
home. 

They  have  left  the  cars  at  a  very  small 
town.  It  has  ten  or  twelve  houses  and  one 
store,  and  they  have  taken  here  a  great 
wagon  with  three  horses  to  carry  them  yet 
a  few  miles  farther  to  a  lonely,  though 
beautiful  place.  It  is  on  the  edge  of  a 
forest.  The  trees  are  very  tall,  their  trunks 
moss-covered;  and  when  you  look  far  in 
among  them  it  is  so  dark  that  no  sun- 
light seems  to  fall  on  the  brown  earth.  But 
outside  is  sunshine,  and  the  young  spring 
grass  and  wild  flowers,  different  from  those 
which  grow  on  the  Rhine  banks. 
But  where  is  their  house .? 


I06  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

Here  is  indeed  something  new  for  them. 
It  is  almost  night;  no  house  is  near,  and 
they  have  no  sleeping-place  but  the  great 
wagon.  But  their  cheerful  mother  packs 
them  all  away  in  the  back  part  of  the 
wagon,  on  some  straw,  covering  them  with 
shawls  as  well  as  she  can,  and  bids  them 
good-night,  saying,  "You  can  see  the  stars 
whenever  you  open  your  eyes." 

It  is  a  new  bed  and  a  hard  one.  How- 
ever, the  children  are  tired  enough  to  sleep 
well ;  but  they  woke  very  early,  as  you  or  I 
certainly  should  if  we  slept  in  the  great 
concert-hall  of  the  birds.  Oh,  how  those 
birds  of  the  woods  did  begin  to  sing,  long 
before  sunrise !  And  Christian  was  out 
from  his  part  of  the  bed  in  a  minute,  and 
off  four  miles  to  the  store,  to  buy  some 
bread  for  breakfast. 

An  hour  after  sunrise  he  was  back  again, 
and  Louise  had  gathered  sticks,  of  which 
her  father  made  a  bright  fire.  And  now 
the  mother  is  teaching  her  little  daughter 
how  to  make  tea,  and  Fritz  and  Gretchen 
are  poking  long  sticks  into  the  ashes  to  find 


Louise i  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     107 

the  potatoes  which  were  hidden  there  to 
roast. 

To  them  it  is  a  beautiful  picnic,  like 
those  happy  days  in  the  grape  season ;  but 
Louise  can  see  that  her  mother  is  a  little 
grieved  at  having  them  sleep  in  the  wagon 
with  no  house  to  cover  them.  And  when 
breakfast  is  over  she  says  to  the  father  that 
the  children  must  be  taken  back  to  the 
village  to  stay  until  the  house  is  built.  He, 
too,  had  thought  so;  and  the  mother  and 
children  go  back  to  the  little  town. 

Christian  alone  stays  with  his  father, 
working  with  his  small  axe  as  his  father 
does  with  the  large  one;  but  to  both 
it  is  very  hard  work  vo  cut  trees,  because 
it  is  something  they  have  never  done 
before.  They  do  their  best,  and  when  he 
is  not  too  tired.  Christian  whistles  to  cheer 
himself. 

After  the  first  day  a  man  is  hired  to  help, 
and  it  is  not  a  great  while  before  the  little 
house  is  built  — built  of  great,  rough  logs, 
still  covered  with  brown  bark  and  moss. 
All    the    cracks   are    stuffed    with   moss  to 


io8  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

keep  out  the  rain  and  cold,  and  there  is 
one  window  and  a  door. 

It  is  a  poor  little  house  to  come  to  after 
leaving  the  grand  old  one  by  the  Rhine,  but 
the  children  are  delighted  when  their  father 
comes  with  the  great  wagon  to  take  them  to 
their  new  home. 

And  into  this  house  one  summer  night 
they  come  —  without  beds,  tables,  or  chairs ; 
really  with  nothing  but  the  trunks  and  linen- 
chests.  The  dear  old  linen-chests,  see  only 
how  very  useful  they  have  become  !  What 
shall  be  the  supper-table  for  this  first  meal 
in  the  new  house  ?  What  but  the  largest 
of  the  linen-chests,  round  which  they  all 
gather,  some  sitting  on  blocks  of  wood,  and 
the  little  ones  standing!  And  after  supper 
what  shall  they  have  for  beds  ?  What  but 
the  good  old  chests  again !  For  many  and 
many  a  day  and  night  they  are  used,  and 
the  mother  is,  over  and  over  again,  thankful 
that  she  brought  them. 

As  the  summer  days  go  by,  the  children 
pick  berries  in  the  woods  and  meadows,  and 
Fritz  is  feeling  himself  a  great  boy  when 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     109 

his  father  expects  him  to  take  care  of  the 
old  horse,  bhnd  of  one  eye,  bought  to  drag 
the  loads  of  wood  to  market. 

Louise  is  learning  to  love  the  grand  old 
trees  where  the  birds  and  squirrels  live. 
She  sits  for  hours  with  her  work  on  some 
mossy  cushion  under  the  great  waving 
boughs,  and  she  is  so  silent  and  gentle  that 
the  squirrels  learn  to  come  very  near  her, 
turning  their  heads  every  minute  to  see  if 
she  is  watching,  and  almost  laughing  at  her 
with  their  sharp,  bright  eyes,  while  they  are 
cramming  their  cheeks  full  of  nuts  —  not  to 
eat  now,  you  know,  but  to  carry  home  to 
the  storehouses  in  some  comfortable  hollow 
trees,  to  be  saved  for  winter  use.  When 
the  snow  comes,  you  see,  they  will  not  be 
able  to  find  any  nuts. 

One  day  Louise  watched  them  until  she 
suddenly  thought,  "  Why  don't  we,  too,  save 
nuts  for  the  winter }  "  and  the  next  day  she 
brought  a  basket  and  the  younger  children, 
instead  of  her  knitting-work.  They  fright- 
ened away  the  squirrels,  to  be  sure,  but  they 
carried  home  a  fine  large  basketful  of  nuts. 


no  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

Oh,  how  much  might  be  seen  in  those 
woods  on  a  summer  day ! — birds  and  flowers, 
and  such  beautiful  moss !  I  have  seen  it 
myself,  so  soft  and  thick,  better  than  the 
softest  cushion  to  sit  on,  and  then  so  lovely 
to  look  at,  with  its  long,  bright  feathers  of 
green. 

Sometimes  Louise  has  seen  the  quails 
going  out  for  a  walk ;  the  mother  with  her 
seven  babies  all  tripping  primly  along  behind 
her,  the  wee,  brown  birds ;  and  all  running, 
helter-skelter,  in  a  minute,  if  they  hear  a 
noise  among  the  bushes,  and  hiding,  each 
one,  his  head  under  a  broad  leaf,  thinking, 
poor  little  foolish  things,  that  no  one  can 
see  them. 

Christian  whistles  to  the  quails  a  long, 
low  call;  they  will  look  this  way  and  that 
and  listen,  and  at  last  really  run  towards 
him  without  fear. 

Before  winter  comes  the  log  house  is 
made  more  comfortable  ;  beds  and  chairs  are 
bought,  and  a  great  fire  burns  in  the  fire- 
place. But  do  the  best  they  can  the  rain 
will  beat  in  between  the  logs,  and  after  the 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     1 1 1 

first  snowstorm  one  night,  a  white  pointed 
drift  is  found  on  the  breakfast-table.  They 
laugh  at  it,  and  call  it  ice-cream,  but  they 
almost  feel  more  like  crying,  with  cold  blue 
fingers,  and  toes  that  even  the  warm  knit 
stockings  can't  keep  comfortable.  Never 
mind,  the  swift  snowshoes  will  make  them 
skim  over  the  snow-crust  like  birds  flying, 
and  the  merry  sled-rides  that  brother  Chris- 
tian will  give  them  will  make  up  for  all  the 
trouble.  They  will  soon  love  the  winter  in 
the  snowy  woods. 

Their  clothes,  too,  are  all  wearing  out. 
Fritz  comes  to  his  mother  with  great  holes 
in  his  jacket-sleeves,  and  poor  Christian's 
knees  are  blue  and  frost-bitten  through  the 
torn  trousers.     What  shall  be  done  ? 

Louise  brings  out  two  old  coats  of  her 
father's.  Christian  is  wrapped  in  one  from 
head  to  foot,  and  Fritz  looks  like  the  oddest 
little  man  with  his  great  coat  muffled  around 
him,  crossed  in  front  and  buttoned  around 
behind,  while  the  long  sleeves  can  be  turned 
back  almost  to  his  shoulders.  Funny  enough 
he  looks,  but  it  makes  him  quite  warm ;  and 


112  The  Seveji  Little  Sisters. 

in  this  biting  wind  who  would  think  of  the 
looks  ?  So  our  little  friend  is  to  drive  poor 
old  Major  to  town  with  a  sled-load  of  wood 
every  day,  while  his  father  and  brother  are 
cutting  trees  in  the  forest. 

Should  you  laugh  to  see  a  boy  so  dressed 
coming  up  the  street  with  a  load  of  wood  ? 
Perhaps  you  would  n't  if  you  knew  how  cold 
he  would  be  without  this  coat,  and  how 
much  he  hopes  to  get  the  half-dollar  for  his 
wood,  and  bring  home  bread  and  meat  for 
supper. 

How  wise  the  children  grow  in  this  hard 
work  and  hard  life!  Fritz  feels  himself  a 
little  man,  and  Louise,  I  am  sure,  is  as  use- 
ful as  many  a  woman,  for  she  is  learning  to 
cook  and  tend  the  fire,  while  even  Gretchen 
has  some  garters  to  knit,  and  takes  quite 
good  care  of  the  baby. 

Little  Hans  will  never  remember  the 
great  house  by  the  Rhine ;  he  was  too  lit- 
tle when  they  came  away;  but  by  and  by 
he  will  like  to  hear  stories  about  it,  which, 
you  may  be  sure,  Louise  will  often  tell  her 
little  brother. 


Louise,  the  Child  of  the  Western  Forest.     113 

The  winter  is  the  hardest  time.  When 
Christmas  comes  there  is  not  even  a  tree, 
for  there  are  no  candles  to  light  one  and  no 
presents  to  give.  But  there  is  one  beautiful 
gift  which  they  may  and  do  all  give  to  each 
other,  —  it  makes  them  happier  than  many 
toys  or  books,  —  it  is  love.  It  makes  even 
this  cold  dreary  Christmas  bright  and  beauti- 
ful to  them. 

Next  winter  will  not  be  so  hard,  for  in 
the  spring  corn  will  be  planted,  and  plenty 
of  potatoes  and  turnips  and  cabbages;  and 
they  will  have  enough  to  eat  and  something 
to  sell  for  money. 

But  I  must  not  stay  to  tell  you  more  now 
of  the  backwoods  life  of  Louise  and  her 
brothers  and  sister.  If  you  travel  some  day 
to  the  West,  perhaps  you  will  see  her  your- 
self, gathering  her  nuts  under  the  trees,  or 
sitting  in  the  sun  on  the  doorstep  with  her 
knitting.  Then  you  will  know  her  for  the 
little  sister  who  has  perhaps  come  closest  to 
your  heart,  and  you  will  clasp  each  other's 
hands  in  true  affection. 


THE    SEVEN    LITTLE   SISTERS. 

Here,  dear  children,  are  your  seven  little 
sisters.  Let  us  count  them  over.  First  came 
the  brown  baby,  then  Agoonack,  Gemila, 
Jeannette,  Pen-se,  Manenko,  and  Louise. 
Seven  little  sisters  I  have  called  them,  but 
Mamie  exclaims :  "  How  can  they  be  sisters 
when  some  are  black,  some  brown,  and  some 
white ;  when  one  lives  in  the  warm  country 
and  another  in  the  cold,  and  Louise  upon 
the  shores  of  the  Rhine?  Sallie  and  I  are 
sisters,  because  we  have  the  same  father  and 
live  here  together  in  the  same  house  by  the 
seaside;  but  as  for  those  seven  children,  I 
can't  believe  them  to  be  sisters  at  all." 

Now  let  us  suppose,  my  dear  little  girl, 
that  your  sister  Sallie  should  go  away,  —  far 
away  in  a  ship  across  the  ocean  to  the  warm 
countries,  and  the  sun  should  burn  her  face 
and  hands  and  make  them  so  brown  that 
you  would  hardly  know  her,  —  wouldn't  she 
still  be  your  sister  Sallie  ? 
"4 


The  Seven  Little  Sisters.  115 

And  suppose  even  that  she  should  stay- 
away  in  the  warm  countries  and  never  come 
back  again,  would  n't  she  still  be  your  dear 
sister?  and  wouldn't  you  write  her  letters 
and  tell  her  about  home  and  all  that  you 
love  there? 

I  know  you  would. 

And  now,  just  think  if  you  yourself  should 
take  a  great  journey  through  ice  and  snow 
and  go  to  the  cold  countries,  up  among  the 
white  bears  and  the  sledges  and  dogs ;  sup- 
pose even  that  you  should  have  an  odd 
little  dress  of  white  bear-skin,  like  Agoo- 
nack,  would  n't  you  think  it  very  strange  if 
Sallie  should  n't  call  you  her  little  sister  just 
because  you  were  living  up  there  among  the 
ice? 

And  what  if  Minnie,  too,  should  take  it 
into  her  head  to  sail  across  the  seas  and 
live  in  a  boat  on  a  Chinese  river,  like  Pen-se, 
and  drive  the  ducks,  eat  rice  with  chop- 
sticks, and  have  fried  mice  for  dinner;  why, 
you  might  not  want  to  dine  with  her,  but 
she  would  be  your  sweet,  loving  sister  all 
the  same,  would  n't  she  ? 


ii6  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

I  can  hear  you  say  "  Yes  "  to  all  this,  but 
then  you  v/ill  add :  "  Father  is  our  father  the 
same  all  the  time,  and  he  is  n't  Pen-se's 
father,  nor  Manenko's." 

Let  us  see  what  makes  you  think  he  is 
your  father.  Because  he  loves  you  so  much 
and  gives  you  everything  that  you  have  — 
clothes  to  wear,  and  food  to  eat,  and  fire  to 
warm  you  ? 

Did  he  give  you  this  new  little  gingham 
frock?  Shall  we  see  what  it  is  made  of? 
If  you  ravel  out  one  end  of  the  cloth,  you 
can  find  the  little  threads  of  cotton  which 
are  woven  together  to  rriake  your  frock. 
Where  did  the  cotton  come  from? 

It  grew  in  the  hot  fields  of  the  South, 
where  the  sun  shines  very  warmly.  Your 
father  did  n't  make  it  grow,  neither  did  any 
man.  It  is  true  a  man,  a  poor  black  man, 
and  a  very  sad  man  he  was  too,  put  the  little 
seeds  into  the  ground,  but  they  would  never 
have  grown  if  the  sun  had  n't  shone,  the  soft 
earth  nourished,  and  the  rain  moistened 
them.  And  who  made  the  earth,  and  sent 
the  sun  and  the  rain  ? 


The  Seven  Little  Sisters.  117 

That  must  be  somebody  very  kind  and 
thoughtful,  to  take  so  much  care  of  the  little 
cotton-seeds.     I  think  that  must  be  a  father. 

Now,  what  did  you  have  for  breakfast 
this  morning? 

A  sweet  Indian  cake  with  your  ^^^  and 
mug  of  milk  ?  I  thought  so.  Who  made  this 
breakfast  .f*  Did  Bridget  make  the  cake  in 
the  kitchen  ?  Yes,  she  mixed  the  meal  with 
milk  and  salt  and  sugar.  But  where  did  she 
get  the  meal }  The  miller  ground  the  yellow 
corn  to  make  it.     But  who  made  the  corn  t 

The  seeds  were  planted  as  the  cotton- 
seeds were,  and  the  same  kind  care  supplied 
sun  and  rain  and  earth  for  them.  Was  n't 
that  a  father  ?  Not  your  father  who  sits  at 
the  head  of  the  table  and  helps  you  at  din- 
ner, who  takes  you  to  walk  and  tells  you 
stories,  but  another  Father;  your  Father, 
too,  he  must  be,  for  he  is  certainly  taking 
care  of  you. 

And  does  n't  he  make  the  corn  grow,  also, 
on  that  ant-hill  behind  Manenko's  house? 
He  seems  to  take  the  same  care  of  her  as 
of  you. 


iiS  The  Seven  Little  Sisters. 

Then  the  milk  and  the  &%%.  They  come 
from  the  hen  and  the  cow;  but  who  made 
the  hen  and  the  cow  ? 

It  was  the  same  kind  Father  again  who 
made  them  for  you,  and  made  the  camels 
and  goats  for  Gemila  and  Jeannette ;  who 
made  also  the  wild  bees,  and  taught  them 
to  store  their  honey  in  the  trees,  for  Man- 
enko;  who  made  the  white  rice  grow  and 
ripen  for  little  Pen-se,  and  the  sea-birds  and 
the  seals  for  Agoonack.  To  every  one  good 
food  to  eat  —  and  more  than  that ;  for  must 
it  not  be  a  very  loving  father  who  has  made 
for  us  all  the  beautiful  sky,  and  the  stars  at 
night,  and  the  blue  sea;  who  sent  the  soft 
wind  to  rock  the  brown  baby  to  sleep  and 
sing  her  a  song,  and  the  grand  march  of  the 
Northern  Lights  for  Agoonack  —  grander 
and  more  beautiful  than  any  of  the  fire- 
works you  know;  the  red  strawberries  for 
little  Jeannette  to  gather,  and  the  beauti- 
ful chestnut  woods  on  the  mountain-side? 
Do  you  remember  all  these  things  in  the 
stories  ? 

And  was  n't  it  the  same  tender  love  that 


The  Seven  Little  Sisters.  119 

made  the  sparkling  water  and  sunshine  for 
Pen-se,  and  the  shining  brown  ducks  for 
her  too ;  the  springs  in  the  desert  and  the 
palm-trees  for  Gemila,  as  well  as  the  warm 
sunshine  for  Manenko,  and  the  beautiful 
River  Rhine  for  Louise  ? 

It  must  be  a  very  dear  father  who  gives 
his  children  not  only  all  they  need  for  food 
and  clothing,  but  so  many,  many  beautiful 
things  to  enjoy. 

Don't  you  see  that  they  must  all  be  his 
children,  and  so  all  sisters,  and  that  he  is 
your  Father,  too,  who  makes  the  mayflowers 
bloom,  and  the  violets  cover  the  hills,  and 
turns  the  white  blossoms  into  black,  sweet 
berries  in  the  autumn  ?  It  is  your  dear  and 
kind  Father  who  does  all  this  for  his  chil- 
dren. He  has  very  many  children ;  some  of 
them  live  in  houses  and  some  in  tents,  some 
in  little  huts  and  some  under  the  trees,  in 
the  warm  countries  and  in  the  cold.  And 
he  loves  them  all;  they  are  his  children,  and 
they  are  brothers  and  sisters.  Shall  they 
not  love  each  other.? 


VOCABULARY. 


SEVEN   LITTLE   SISTERS. 


PRONUNCIATION,  —a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  as  in  /ate,  mete,  site,  rope,  tube;  \, 
e,  t,  6,  u,  as  in  hat,  met,  bit,  not,  cut ;  a,  e,  i,  o,  ii,  as  in  /ar,  her,  fir,  nor, 
cur ;  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  as  in  mental,  travel,  peril,  idol,  fiorum  ;  ee,  as  in  fieei ;  66, 
as  in  hoot ;  ou,  as  in  botigh  ;  ou,  as  in  croup. 

Koyenna,  Ko-yen'-na. 

Kudlunah,  K66d-166'-nah. 

Kungo,  K66ng'-go. 

Kyak,  Ki'-ak. 

Leighton,  La'-tn. 

Liebe  Mutter,  Le'-by  M66t'-ter. 

Lignum  VitJe,  Lig'-num  Vl'-te 

Li-hoo,  Li'-h66'. 

Lin,  Ling. 

Lou,  Lod. 

Louise,  L66-ez'. 

Malonda,  Mal-6n'-da. 

Manenko,  Man-enk'-ko. 

Maunka,  Ma-6onk'-ka. 

Nannook,  Nan'-nook. 

Pen-se,  Pen'-se. 

Ra,  Ra. 

Sekomi,  Se-ko-me. 

Simel,  Se'-mel. 

Sipsu,  Sip'-s66. 

Zungo,  Zoong'-go. 


Abdel,  Ab'-del. 
Agoonack,  A-goon'-ack. 
Alee,  A'-lee. 
Chiken,  She'-ken. 
Chow,  Chou. 
Esquimau,  Es'-ke-mo. 
Esquimaux,^/.,  Es'-ke-mo. 
Faw  Choo,  Faw'  Choo'. 
Gemila,  Jem'-e-la. 
Gretchen,  Gret'-hyen. 
Hassan,  Has'-san. 
Jean,  Jeen. 
Jeannette,  Jen-net'. 
Kang-hy,  Kang'-hy'. 
Khamasseen,  Kam-as-seen'. 
Kina,  Ke'-na. 
Kittar,  Kit-tar'. 
Kodi,  Ko'-de. 
Koran,  Ko'-ran. 
Kordofan,  Kor'-do-fan. 
Korosko,  Ko-ros'-ko. 


